


On My Knees I Think Clearer

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Banter, Catholic school AU, Fluff and Crack, Future d/s older/younger relationship but not underage, Love Stories, M/M, Matchmaking, Not Underage, Spies & Secret Agents, brief mention of family issues, brief mention of unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 86,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: Secret agent/spy Arthur is part of a private investigation, initiated by Saito, to infiltrate a secret collusion of the world’s biggest energy corporations but treachery exposes the operation and he has to go into hiding. His handler, Cobb, sends him to a Catholic boarding school for his cover. As a student.Eames is a forger and thief who got double-crossed trying to steal art from the Vatican. For his sins, he's been sent to teach art at the same Catholic school.Arthur forms a team at the school to help him complete the operation which includes the French teacher, Mal; the students, Yusuf and Ariadne and Robert and Tadashi, and a small host of supporting OCs.
Relationships: Ariadne/Yusuf (background), Arthur/Eames (Inception), Dom Cobb/Mal Cobb (background), Robert Fischer/OMC (background), Saito/Tadashi (future background)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 133





	1. Monday and Tuesday

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Little Less Sixteen Candles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/668543) by [osaki_nana_707](https://archiveofourown.org/users/osaki_nana_707/pseuds/osaki_nana_707). 



> osaki_nana_707’s story “A Little Less Sixteen Candles” provided a jumping-off point for this story. If you've read that one, you'll notice distinct similarities in this (at least in the beginning). Sometimes I just want to see what I can make of someone else’s idea… In this case, the story has grown far beyond anything I expected it to become and has, in fact, turned into a twisted sort of origin story.
> 
> Soooooooo... a little background - my sister and I were at a Snow Patrol concert when I was reading the above story. Hence the title. All props to Gary and my darling sister/muse [foxtales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales), who continually inundates me with inspiration at the exact moment it is most inconvenient and most detrimental to any current project. Damn you for making me start this story while typing furiously on a cell phone during a kinda boring opening band. And thank you. But mostly damn you, I was already working on something else, stop talking to me!

**Monday**

Arthur moved quickly through the dim corridors, gun at the ready as he checked around corners.

“Nash!” he whispered harshly. “Answer me, dammit!” There was not a sound from the other agent, nor had there been since he had heard Nash take a shocked breath in and then the sharp noise of a handgun at short range, clear over his earpiece.

Cobb’s quiet voice came over the comm. “Exfil. Now.”

“Nash’s last position…” Arthur started.

“Negative,” Cobb said. “You're made.”

Arthur bared his teeth and headed back down the corridor, cursing silently. He heard the running feet coming up at the next intersection and dove past at floor level, rolling to take a couple fast shots at the armed security guards and then scrambling through a door and down a stairwell. He paused at the exit door at the bottom, gently kicked it open slightly while leaning away from the obvious line of fire. No gunfire answered the movement of the door. He didn't trust that that meant no one was waiting for him but he didn't have any easier exit at the moment, so he kicked the door all the way open, swinging around it fast for cover and running between the cars in the parking garage.

“Two teams closing on your position,” Cobb said, sounding out of breath. “No exit through the garage. Taking fire here.”

Arthur ducked between a truck and the parking garage wall, re-evaluating his mental floor plan.

“Closing up shop here,” Cobb said. Arthur heard rapid gunfire over Cobb’s panting. “Do not, repeat, do not use pre-arranged rendezvous.”

Arthur heard more shots and then his comm went dead.

He reviewed his options and sighed. Cobol’s headquarters were right at the edge of the river, with a side of the office building actually built out over the water. And although he’d obviously taken the surroundings into account during the planning, he really hadn't expected to end up in the river as his only viable exit plan.

He laid down fire in all directions, emptying the magazine in his gun and replacing it with his last full one, and dove out of the parking garage into the filthy water two stories below.

There was plenty of commercial river traffic, even this late at night, so he had no problem surfacing on the far side of a slow-moving fishing vessel and using it as cover to get downriver unseen. He moved from boat to boat, staying at the waterline until he was far down the waterway and he judged it clear to exit the water, pulling himself ashore wearily like a half-drowned rat.

Arthur had still been in the military when he first met Dom Cobb, though he was never clear what kind of ‘military consulting’ Cobb had been involved with. It was Cobb who talked Arthur out of re-enlisting, promising him a place with the mysterious Company Cobb was part of. And while it was Arthur's skills and talents that gave him a place, it was Cobb who had steered him a clear path to the ops teams. It was Cobb who served as his handler and liaison, Cobb on the other end of his comm channel, Cobb who gave him his orders and took his reports.

And Arthur also counted Cobb as a kind-of more-or-less friend. They occasionally hung out together outside of work, generally with Arthur as an unwilling wingman on more than one bar-hopping quest for a girlfriend for Cobb. Problem was, Cobb was kind of insane and most women he could scrounge up from the pool of available females willing to be hit on in a commercial drinking establishment didn't seem to appreciate the level of dedicated lunacy Dom Cobb was able to offer.

But at least Arthur already knew where to meet him when they went so dramatically off-plan.

“Arthur.” Cobb embraced him grimly in the grimy bathroom of a gay bar in one of Mombasa’s red light districts. “You're the last to make it out.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Cobol knew we were coming. Someone talked. We lost Nash and Ballentyne. We've got four others seriously injured. I'm sending everyone involved into hiding while we get this sorted out. I've got a cover for you; you're scheduled to take a flight out to London in a couple of hours.”

“What? No, I'm staying here to help.”

“Arthur. Cobol has your name and your picture. They've already alerted the authorities and they're starting to search the airport and transit stations. You get out now or you'll be run down here in Mombasa.”

“Fuck.”

“It'll probably take a few weeks to a few months to sort out, and we can't risk you blowing your cover. They've put a very generous price on your head and we want to keep you alive. Promise you'll do the sensible thing and keep your head down until I contact you?”

“Where am I headed?”

“A Catholic school north of London.”

“Dom. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Arthur, you've got a really young face, so…”

“Fuck, Dom. You know this sort of thing only works in Hollywood, right? I'm twenty-three. How young do you think I look?”

“Well, your cover is seventeen.” He clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “Better make it work.”

Arthur sat in a chair in the barbershop in the Mombasa airport, staring at himself in the mirror. He had to admit, he looked the part right now.

Cobb had handed him a backpack and the key to a airport storage locker and told him to make his flight or else, then left him in the gay bar’s bathroom.

The backpack had held papers: information about his cover persona, the school he would be attending, a passport, an airplane ticket, a wallet with some cash, a cell phone, and a set of clothing.

He paged through the papers, stopping dead at the cover name. Arthur _Darling_? He glanced at the cell phone, barely resisting the urge to call Cobb and demand what the hell he was thinking. He was sending Arthur to school with a last name like Darling?

He gloomily examined the clothing — khaki trousers, a plain leather belt, a starched white button-down shirt, black tie, navy v-necked sweater, and a navy blazer with an embroidered school crest. Black socks and black shoes. A pair of black-rimmed glasses.

He changed in the alley behind the bar, stuffing his working clothes into a trash bin, folding the blazer over his arm to hide the crest. Then he snuck away from the bar along several alleys, trying not to look like a sex scene gone wrong in the red light district. When he judged that he'd gone far enough, he caught a tuktuk to the airport, feigning ignorance of Swahili and demanding to be taken to the airport in sulky tourist English.

The airport locker held a carry-on suitcase with some horrible teenage band T-shirts, artfully distressed jeans, some touristy Kenyan souvenirs, and a worn, fluffy teddy bear. Arthur stared at the stuffed bear for a very long time, wondering how many days he could possibly make Cobb’s slow death last.

He stopped at the airport barbershop because he caught a glimpse of himself in a glass window. His hair was a mess from the events of the day and the swim in the river, but it was an adult hairstyle to begin with; that of a grown man who occasionally went out to pick up other men, something that could be neat and professional or artfully tousled and tempting when he was on the pull. Not the right haircut for a somewhat awkward teenage schoolboy.

While he was waiting in the shop, a dozen armed security men walked past and he made his eyes wide and alarmed behind the glasses as he watched them. It wasn't much of a stretch to act scared. There was no guarantee he'd make it through security with photos of him floating around, and there was no assistance to be had from the Company right now. He was more on his own than he'd been since he went into the military at sixteen.

He was twenty-three, and his cover was a boy of seventeen. Time to look like it. Wide eyes, glasses slightly askew, an awkward attempt at an edgy haircut made messier by running a hand through it, and the knowledge that he was unarmed for the first time in years.

The teddy bear got him through security. When his carry-on was opened to search, the big guard guffawed and held it up to show the rest of the security team. Arthur bit his lip and blushed, glancing around anxiously until he met the eyes of the motherly looking older woman at the scanner station. She gave him a sympathetic, if amused, smile and snapped at the big guard in Kikuyu. He smirked but dropped the bear back into the carry-on and waved Arthur through.

So he decided Cobb could live, but he entertained himself while waiting to board the plane by planning potential injuries, temporary and permanent, and associated recovery periods.

**Tuesday**

Arthur suspected the teddy bear had a paw in getting him through early-morning customs at Heathrow as well, but he was too exhausted to care much; between tension and redeye travel, the fact that he never slept well in planes, and that he hadn't slept since before the operation, all meant he was practically staggering with fatigue.

He didn't have to fake the dark circles under his eyes, or the pale skin, or the sleepy responses to the customs official’s questions.

He almost missed the driver with the sign bearing the school’s name. Luckily the man recognized the school crest on his rumpled blazer and waved him down.

Arthur fell asleep in the car on the way but the driver kindly woke him as they passed through the gates. Arthur, feeling better for having had a couple hours of sleep, figured his cover was working fine - the driver opened the car door for him after parking and ruffled Arthur's hair as he oozed sleepily out of the car.

“You'll be fine, son,” he assured Arthur as he pulled Arthur's suitcase from the trunk.

Arthur blinked at him and adjusted the glasses that had settled even more askew on his face while he'd napped. “Um, thanks?”

The man grinned at him. “Sorry, you're about the same age as my boy and he's away at school, too.” He didn't sound sorry, Arthur thought with an internal scowl. He was grinning at Arthur like he found Arthur _cute_ or something. His thoughts must've shown a bit, because the driver pulled his mouth into a more serious shape, though his eyes twinkled suspiciously.

“There you are, young sir,” he said, overly formal, setting Arthur's suitcase down. “Hope your term’s not the torturous hell my son always makes his out to be.” He inclined his head, the grin breaking out again, and slipped into the car and drove off.

Arthur scowled.

The courtyard of the school was infested with clots of children in uniforms. A handful of teachers stalked through like sheepdogs Arthur had seen on a documentary once, causing the clots to shy apart and stream messily into the massive double doors. Older students nodded casually to the teachers, far too cool to be herded, at least in front of the other students.

Arthur sighed, taking in the visible groupings, the alliances and enmities, the lines of tension or indifference. He'd hated high school. The foster care system he'd grown up in had kept him reserved and angry, and he'd been on the small and skinny side, a frequent target for bullying until he'd found people willing to teach him martial arts. One foster parent had even taken him to a shooting range while he'd lived with them and triggered a lifelong love of weaponry. He'd joined the military as soon as he could and never looked back.

But high school again… He didn't know how he was going to pass as a child, no matter how young he looked. But then, to be fair, he had never really felt like a child anyway.

He sighed and headed for the administration offices. After checking in, he went straight to his room. He was starting the term late so one more day of missing classes didn't seem to matter. Besides, he needed a shower and more sleep.

He unlocked the door and stopped in the doorway. He hadn't realized it was a shared room, though he supposed he should've expected it. Two beds, two desks, two small bookshelves, two wardrobes. One side was clearly occupied, to judge from the messy bed and full bookshelf.

The trunk at the foot of the other bed had his cover name, Arthur Darling, imprinted on it and, when he opened it, was full of school uniforms, various other clothing, linens, towels, toiletries, and textbooks. There was a slim laptop covered in colorful stickers in a messenger-type bag. He pulled the computer out, frowning at all the stickers, and set it aside on the bed. Concealed within the foam padding inside the laptop compartment of the bag were a small 9mm semi-automatic carry pistol and two extra magazines. There were four boxes of ammunition tucked in a spare pocket.

He felt his shoulders relax. He was no longer unarmed.

Arthur took the time to unpack his uniforms and clothes, piled the textbooks on the bookshelf, and made his bed. Then he went down the hall and took a long shower alone in the communal bathroom before returning to change into pyjamas and faceplant on the bed for a nap.

The room door slammed open, startling the hell out of him. He’d left the gun concealed in the messenger bag, but brought the bag onto the bed with him. He rolled onto his side, facing the door, hand on top of the bag, trying not to twitch.

A somewhat soft-looking young man with dark curly hair so wet it was soaking his shirt stalked in, glaring, but then gave Arthur a startled look. “Oh. Guess I've a roommate after all.”

“Umm,” Arthur said, slumping back onto the bed. “Yeah, sorry, just got in today.”

“You're American? How'd you end up here?”

Arthur blinked, yawning hugely. “Got kicked out of my last school and my parents thought I'd made bad friends. Wanted to send me way away.” He rolled up to sit in the edge of the bed and extended his hand. “Arthur Darling. Please call me Arthur. Why's your hair so wet? Is it raining out?”

“Yusuf Amari. Yusuf is fine.” He gave Arthur’s hand a damp shake. “And no. Didn't avoid a pack of bullies fast enough.”

“What?” Arthur gave him a baffled look.

Yusuf sighed, pulled a towel from his wardrobe, and sat in his desk chair to start rubbing his hair dry. “Look,” he said, muffled by the towel. “A bunch of rich families send their kids here, and they pretty much run the place. The rest of us are, for the most part, on various scholarships or a few charity programs. The headmaster lets the elite kids get away with almost anything.” He glanced at Arthur past the towel. “I'll point them out at dinner so you know who to avoid.” He took in Arthur's incredulous look and sighed again. “You can't tell me they've never heard of flushing your head in the loo in America.”

“I…”

“It goes pretty fast if you don't struggle too much.”

Arthur blinked. He'd been hazed in the military, and hadn't reacted well. He'd spent some time in lockup before his superior officers decided to call his reaction self-defense and he'd gotten away with several warnings in his file and a mandatory anger management course that had endlessly amused him. He hadn't reacted in _anger_ , after all.

“Um. Do I look like a target?”

Yusuf gave him a long look. “You're skinny and not tall. You're wearing glasses. And you're not sporty, are you?”

“I guess not?”

“And you're named Darling. So there you are. Anyway, welcome to St Berwick’s. What classes are you taking?”

Dinner was a strange and formal affair with actual staff delivering plated food to the long tables. Arthur had assumed life at a boarding school was not really going to conform to Hollywood guidelines but so far his best hope seemed to be that he wasn't going to be stuck in a comedy.

Yusuf gestured with an elbow at a table near the front of the room. “Primarily that lot,” he said, not looking in that direction. “Don't stare. Don't catch their attention.”

Arthur glanced casually at them in passing, assessing risk and capabilities. “All right. Thanks.” He continued his survey around the rest of the room, stopping at the high table where the instructors and administrators were eating. A couple of the older men even seemed to be wearing suits with waistcoats.

One last-minute arrival sauntered up to the staff table, and Arthur did a double-take at his clothing. Wide-legged checked trousers with cuffs, a brightly colored and lightly rumpled dress shirt and a truly offensive tie in a garish pattern, knotted loosely. His hair was slicked back and he obviously hadn't shaved in several days. He grinned cheerfully at his table mates, ignoring the handful of stiff disapproving glances.

What really caught Arthur's attention was that, despite wearing the rejects from a 1940s rag shop, the man was incredibly, unforgettably, devastatingly sexy. His mouth, his generous lips, arranged in an asymmetrical easy grin, were nearly obscene, his hands and fingers were well-shaped and nimble, and he moved with a lazy muscular grace that meant that not only did he work out but used his body daily.

“Who the hell is _that_?” he whispered to Yusuf.

“The one who just sat down?”

“In the hideous clothes? Yeah.”

Yusuf snorted. “That's the art instructor, Mr Eames.”

“Art? Really?”

Yusuf shrugged. “He's new this term. But I don't take non-serious courses, so I don't know much about him.”

Arthur tore his eyes away with effort. Between research and planning the operation, he'd been on the Cobol job for months with no time for even random encounters, and he was feeling more than a little deprived in the pipe-cleaning department. He'd been looking forward to the end of the job and the opportunity to go find, if not a decent short-term relationship, then at least a decent fuck or several. And now he was stuck in a Catholic boarding school for an unspecified amount of time with an off-limits badly-dressed sex god who taught… “Wait, art? I've got an art class on my schedule.”

“Then you've probably got Mr Eames. Why, is that a problem?”

Arthur shook his head, concentrating on his dinner. He wanted to nod frantically, but Yusuf was obviously dead straight, asexual, or heavily into monogamy. He stole another glance at the instructors’ table and fuck if the man wasn't licking his spoon. Arthur felt his cock twitch in response. Who even did that in polite company?

He pulled out his phone and checked his course schedule. Sure enough, art class, instructor Eames, tomorrow. Three times a week, in fact. Well. At least now he knew his minimum required masturbation schedule, too. Right before art class, three times a week.

Good thing he was planning to skip confession. Wait, wasn't it called Reconciliation now? Regardless, he wasn't about to do penance for what promised to be as necessary for survival as breathing.


	2. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's first full day at St Berwick's, whereupon he impresses Yusuf, makes some new friends, and meets Mr Eames.

**Wednesday**

Arthur’s alarm went off in the morning and he groaned into the pillow. There was an answering groan from Yusuf from across the room.

“I hate school,” Arthur muttered.

“Too fucking right,” Yusuf growled. “But at least daily mass is shorter and the breakfast buffet is good.” He sighed and rolled out of bed and collected his bathrobe and toiletries.

Arthur sat up and yawned. “I thought daily mass wasn't mandatory.”

Yusuf nodded. “You're right, it's not mandatory.”

He gave Yusuf a thoughtful look. “But it's expected.”

“Did you ask for an exemption for some religious or cultural or physical reason?”

“No. I expected to attend Sunday masses, but I'm not…devout.”

“Nor am I, of course.” Yusuf shrugged. “But doing what’s expected here will keep you off the radar better. And I advise that as much as possible.”

Arthur leaned back on his elbows and studied his roommate. He didn't think Yusuf was particularly cowardly, but so far all he'd passed along were warnings.

Yusuf was about Arthur's height, soft and round-faced, and standing there in his underwear, Arthur could see he was carrying a somewhat significant amount of body fat.

“You're about 5’9”, 5’10”?” he asked.

Yusuf scowled at him. “What're you on about?”

“Sorry…” he did some quick calculations in his head. “About 175 centimeters? 177 maybe?”

“Arthur, you're staring at me. What kind of trouble did you get into at that last school of yours?”

“Yusuf…”

“Look, Arthur, you're not my type.”

Arthur blinked at him. “What? Why would you even think…”

“Your eyes dilated dramatically when you were looking at Mr Eames yesterday at dinner.”

Arthur scowled. “Okay, you're a lot more observant than you let on. But I’m sure my eyes didn’t dilate at you and that's not what this is about, and anyway he's a teacher. I'm not making a move on you.”

“Oh.” Yusuf looked almost equally relieved and disappointed. “Then why were you looking at me like that?”

“I was wondering if you were interested in self defense.”

Yusuf frowned. “I'm a chemistry geek. I don't _do_ sporty things.”

“Do you like having your head flushed?”

“Hmm. You know martial arts?”

“Yes. Would you like to learn?”

“Like knives and such?” Yusuf lit up a little.

Arthur gave him a long look. “No. Like situational awareness and evasion and breaking holds.”

“Oh. Boring.”

“Guess you'll want to buy waterproof product for your hair then.”

Yusuf glared at him and headed for the door. “I'll think about it.”

The shared bathrooms weren't all that bad, if you timed things right. Arthur had learned to take very quick showers in the military anyway, so he let himself be given a place near the end of the short line.

Mass was…well. The last time Arthur had spent half an hour on his knees had involved an entirely different version of worship altogether.

At least Yusuf had been right about breakfast. It was served buffet-style, it was delicious, and people seemed to sit wherever they liked. Arthur and Yusuf sat near the end of a mostly empty table and Arthur studied the dynamics around him.

“So this is that situational awareness you were talking about?”

Arthur turned his head to confront Yusuf’s skeptical expression. “This is gathering information. I know you've been bullied by jocks so you're probably gun shy of physical stuff, but this isn't really any different from the scientific process.”

Yusuf scoffed. “Taking the piss now, are you?”

“And so the colorful expressions start. Look, without getting hung up on details, the scientific method is more or less identifying a problem, gathering information, and making a decision about it, right?”

Yusuf screwed his mouth to one side. “I'll allow it,” he said grudgingly. “And this is what you're doing in the room here?”

“I'm looking at the people that’re grouped together, at where they're sitting or standing in relation to other groups. I'm looking at the ones who are paying attention to other people or the rest of the room and the ones who aren't.”

“And that tells you what?”

“Who's confident, who's scared, who's part of an ‘in’ group, who's not. Even within the ‘in’ group, who's top dog and who's barely holding on to membership.” Arthur held Yusuf’s gaze. “The five guys by the windows at the front of the room. They're part of a popular group but the blond one is newly accepted and he's worried. The others have been a little rough on him, just a little hazing, nothing they didn't have to go through too so it's _fair_ , right?”

Yusuf was staring back at Arthur, eyes wide.

“They're winding him up, daring him to do something he _knows_ is stupid, but he's not going to refuse because he needs to stay in the group. Where it's safe. Even if it means someone else suffers.”

“That's across the whole dining room. You can't possibly hear what's going on.”

“I don't have to hear it. I can see it.” Arthur glanced at the group again, then further down the table. “They're daring him to do something to the red-haired guy sitting halfway down the table there. From the way the blond is clenching his hands and trying to look shifty, he's probably supposed to hit him from behind. Now Red is a big guy, fairly built, got scarred knuckles, so he's done some fighting. I don't know if MMA is popular here, but that'd be my guess. If Blondie tries to sneak up on him and hit Red from behind, it isn't going to go well for him.”

Yusuf was glancing back and forth between the boys and Arthur.

Arthur shrugged. “Now I'm not inclined to interfere in that little problem. Red can take a hit and the resulting painful lesson may very well teach Blondie something useful about life.” He turned his gaze to the buffet. “What I am inclined to interfere with is that the little chick with the scarf is about to finish filling her plate and she's sitting with some girls just down the table from Red. And she's likely to be walking past just as Blondie makes his dumb decision and I'd really like to keep her from being caught in the fallout.”

He turned back to focus on Yusuf. “Identify a problem, gather data, make a decision. You know the little chick?”

“Ariadne,” Yusuf said unevenly.

“You like her,” Arthur said, a quick smile flashing unexpected dimples at Yusuf. “Your eyes dilated a bit when you looked at her.”

Yusuf blushed and Arthur nudged his arm. “Go save her. Delay her or divert her to go down between the other tables.”

“I…”

“Yusuf. Go,” Arthur ordered.

He watched Yusuf get up and trot over to the buffet, awkwardly engaging Ariadne in conversation. Ariadne took it with surprising indulgence, Arthur noted with interest.

And then Blondie was making his move, sauntering down the table like he thought he was the lovechild of John Wayne and some movie ninja. The result was almost as predictable as Arthur had stated, the exception being that Red was far more aware than Arthur had expected, rolling away from the amateur punch to the head and rising and turning fast in the same movement to tuck Blondie under his arm in a surprisingly gentle stranglehold. Blondie flailed and kicked all the way as Red dragged him back down the table to his friends.

The room had fallen entirely silent and Arthur clearly heard Red say “Don't do that again” to the entire group before dropping Blondie on the floor next to them. Then he went back to his seat and the dining room burst back into conversation.

“That was _brilliant_!” Yusuf said as he plopped back down next to Arthur.

“Not boring?”

“They teach everyone this stuff in America? I mean, I know it's a violent place and all…”

“Oh fuck off, Yusuf,” Arthur said with a smile. “Your little Ariadne okay?”

“She's not my…that is to say…I mean…oh, sod off. You're just having me on.”

“Ah, more colorful expressions. I see.”

In the hallway on the way to class, Arthur happened to pass Red. Arthur nodded at him when they made eye contact. “That was nicely done,” he said with a friendly smile. “Still think a sneak attack deserved a more painful lesson in return, though.”

“Hah! Yeah, I'd say so, but I doubt my probation officer would've.” Red grinned down at him. “On the straight and narrow, mate, that's me.”

Arthur grinned back, held out a hand. “Arthur. I'm new this term.”

“Yeah, can tell, wee American. I'm Drake.” He shook Arthur's hand firmly. “You don't want to be seen with me, though.”

“Because you're a target for the assholes and you want to keep me from being a target, too?”

“‘Assholes?’ Bloody Americans and mispronouncing words, I swear.” Drake snorted. “Gonna hafta teach you to curse properly, wee Arthur. ‘Arseholes.’ C'mon, say it with me.”

Arthur laughed. “You'll have problems saying anything through a broken nose if you persist in calling me ‘wee.’”

“Oh, big words from the wee lad,” Drake scoffed, his eyes twinkling. “I'm all afeared now.”

“Christ, I'm going to need to pound you into the ground a few times to teach you manners, aren't I?”

“Pound _me_ into the ground? Can ye _reach_ that high, little laddie?”

“Did you forget that you have very vulnerable knees, you big fucking redwood?”

“Oi,” Drake said, stepping back with a grin. “No need to get violent, knee-biter.” He laughed. “I'd love to see if you can back up all those big words. Come by the gym before dinner sometime.”

“I'll do that. Thanks.” Arthur smiled and nodded and continued on to class.

French class was going to be a breeze. Arthur already spoke French fluently, courtesy of a crush he'd had on an exchange student one year back in school. Languages came easily to him and he'd learned more than a couple in the military, but French was his first love and Paris was still his favorite city of all the places he'd been.

And the French instructor, Ms Mallorie Miles, was going to be a hoot. When Arthur walked in to class, she was lounging on the corner of her desk, arms crossed, a snug wrap dress emphasizing her curves, and a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers. She was smiling out the window, deliberately ignoring the walleyed stares of the boys already in the classroom.

"Bonjour, professeure. Sommes-nous autorisés à fumer aussi? (Good morning, teacher (a gendered version more used in Quebec than France). Are we allowed to smoke, too?)" Arthur asked quietly as he walked up to her.

“Bon accent! Un peu canadien cependant (Good accent! A touch Canadian though),” she said with a wide smile. “You're the late-arriving student?”

“Arthur Darling. Please call me Arthur,” he said, nodding. “I hope you don't hold my accent against me. I haven't spent enough time in Paris yet to smooth it out.”

“Le meilleur objectif! Mais non (The best goal! But no), however, I will expect a superior effort from you this term. Do you hear me, young man?” She scowled at him theatrically, wagging a finger at him.

He leaned back from the threatening digit with a smile. “I certainly do, but I'm terrible at promises.”

“Hah! Making them or keeping them?” She waved her cigarette negligently. “Never mind, you're male, it's both. Go find a seat and stop raising my expectations.”

“Je suis dévasté par votre opinion de mon sexe. (I’m devastated by your opinion of my gender.)” Arthur grinned and winked exaggeratedly.

“Do not talk to me of your sex until you are of legal age, mon cher,” Mal snapped with an answering wink.

Arthur laughed and found a seat. The teasing exchange had been easy and friendly, with no real undercurrents, and he knew that signaled a friendship that encouraged flirting, rather than anything more unsuitable. So far, school wasn't that bad…

Damn his brain. Not that bad. Sure, not that bad, right up until art class. Right up until Mr Eames stalked into class, dressed like a clean hobo, arms full of paint tubes and a bundle of slender paintbrushes clamped sideways between his teeth. One look at those lush lips wrapped around the wooden handles and Arthur felt the jolt all the way down to the tip of his dick. He closed his eyes and worked to keep his expression neutral, breathing evenly and deeply until he felt he could face a universe so cruel with a little more equanimity.

“Perhaps a basket next time,” a light female voice called out with a chuckle. Arthur opened his eyes and realized that Yusuf’s Ariadne was sitting near the back of the almost empty classroom.

Mr Eames dropped all the supplies on the table at the front and waved the bundle of paintbrushes at her with one hand. “Bite me, Ariadne. Where was all your usefulness when I was gathering all this up in my office?”

“Well obviously I was elsewhere because your lot think it's a crime to have to ask for help.”

Mr Eames eyed her suspiciously. “My lot? Have you been hanging about with Ms Miles again? Don't let that French tart rub off on you. If I find you've taken up smoking as well as misandry…”

Arthur and Ariadne both laughed, and Mr Eames focused on him.

“Here now, you're an unfamiliar face,” he said with a heart-stopping grin. Arthur noticed his crooked teeth and almost helplessly pictured the shape of the bite marks they'd leave. “Explain your presence immediately or I'll be forced to use you as a life model for the rest of the class, whenever they show up.”

“I…Arthur. Arthur Darling. I'm a late transfer.” He felt his cheeks and the tips of his ears grow warm and he damned the entire universe again.

“Darling?” Mr Eames asked with a quirked brow and a delighted smile.

He glared, but couldn't do anything about the blush. “Arthur. Please.”

“Oh but Darling, that's not how it works here in merry old England.” His eyes twinkled and Arthur felt a little dizzy at having Eames’ full and mischievous attention on him, especially if he was going to start calling him pet names. “So, Darling, tell me what you know about art.” Mr Eames crossed his arms and leaned back against the table.

“That's…can you at least be a little more specific?” Arthur tried to snap at him, but he was afraid it came out as more of a plea.

Mr Eames huffed in amusement. “Fair enough. Well then, what kind of art do you like?”

“Um. In painting, Realism. Some Impressionism. Not a huge fan of Abstract. In sculpture, more Art Nouveau than Art Deco, though I appreciate the clean elegant lines of Deco. In photography, nature or cityscapes more than portraiture.”

Ariadne dropped into the seat next to Arthur. “What kind of architecture?” she asked with interest.

“That's a little harder. It changes based on the geographical environment it's in. For residential, mostly Craftsman, Prairie, Mid-century Modern. Victorian is pretty but too fussy. I like the soaring glass towers in American cities as long as they're elegant. I love the utter confusion and delight you find in some Asian cities, and I like the mix of modern and ancient in European cities, though there are a few glaring embarrassments.”

Ariadne grinned at him. “What's your favorite European city?”

“Paris, hands down.”

She bounced in delight. “Oh we're going to have so much to talk about,” she announced with a grin. “I'm going to be studying architecture in Paris.”

Mr Eames cleared his throat. “Far be it from me to interrupt a budding relationship,” he said dryly.

Ariadne wrinkled her nose at him. “We're just _talking_. I'm so not his type, and he's absolutely not mine.”

“Uh,” Arthur said intelligently. “What do you think my type is?”

Ariadne squinted at him. “Someone you don't think is _cute_. Cute doesn't do anything for you, and you think I'm _adorable_. Which I am, of course, just not _just_.”

Mr Eames snorted. “And why isn't he your type? If I can safely ask?”

Ariadne laughed. “He's got way too much confidence for me. I don't want to have to go to all that effort just to get him properly flustered and needy.”

An explosive laugh forced its way out of Arthur as Mr Eames choked, slapping his own chest.

“Wow, Ariadne,” Arthur managed. “I guess kudos for knowing what you want, but _damn_.”

She beamed at him. “Best to be clear on these things, I've always believed. And now we can be friends and not worry about it, right? Very efficient, no time wasted.”

Arthur grinned back. “I can't argue with what works.”

Mr Eames shook his head at her, then turned back to his supplies as other students started to trickle in. Arthur watched him, admiring the strong nimble fingers as they untied the brushes. His hands were skilled, his movements almost caressing the paint tubes as he sorted them. He was so graceful, Arthur almost missed that the pinky of his right hand didn't straighten fully and he wondered what injury had caused that damage. He wondered if there'd been nerve damage and whether that finger was numb or extra-sensitive. If it was more sensitive…

“Pity neither of you are very flusterable,” Ariadne murmured.

“What?”

“Well, not by me anyway. You're both awfully attractive, so it's kind of a shame.”

“I don't think flusterable is a real word,” Arthur said firmly.

“What _is_ it about him that's got you off-balance? I mean, I watched you flirt with Mal in French class, and _yes_ , I was there, thank you so _very_ much for not even noticing, and you were completely comfortable the whole time. And I cornered Yusuf after breakfast because he’d been _so_ unsubtle about delaying me at the buffet at breakfast and he told me everything about what you’d said, which was very clever and well-planned and not something I'd expect from someone who almost blushes when Mr Eames smiles at them, so what _is_ it about him?”

Arthur thunked his forehead to the desk and groaned quietly. “Christ, please tell me it's not that obvious to everyone.”

“Oh relax, it's really not. Your face was in control, but it's just that you don't strike me as the type who might blush.”

“I'm not. I'm really not.”

“And is it so bad to have a crush on a hot teacher? You have lots of company when it comes to Mr Eames.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful?” Arthur inquired of the surface of the desk.

“No, I suppose not. Look, stop worrying so much. He's a teacher, he'll be professional about it.”

“You're really determines to be as unhelpful as possible, aren't you?” Arthur said into the surface of the desk.

Ariadne laughed, a bell-like trill, and patted his back.

“Ariadne, do stop toying with your classmates,” Mr Eames said dryly.

“I'm just _helping_ ,” she said.

“Oh, is _that_ what the kids are calling it these days?” he retorted, sparking off a scatter of laughter from the classroom.

Arthur sighed into the desk. “Ariadne. If I begged you, and handed you a very sharp knife, could you please kill me more quickly? If you even understand the concept of mercy, of course. I know they skip that sort of thing in monster education.”

Ariadne laughed and leaned over to kiss his ear. “Sit up and pretend you have a spine, you weasel. Now at least everyone in the class thinks _we're_ having a thing. Your reputation is saved. And you're welcome.”

But Mr Eames knew they weren't having a thing, Arthur couldn't help but think. And if Arthur had any hope of keeping things ‘professional,’ not to mention maintain his cover so he wasn't hunted down and killed by an angry global energy corporation, he was going to have to work on his control. And probably avoid Mr Eames as much as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the French translations for those who cannot see the hover text. Apologies in advance for any mistakes, I'm not nearly so fluent in French as either Arthur or Mal, and Google Translate can make some astonishingly odd suggestions. If anyone has suggestions or corrections, I’d welcome them in the comments!
> 
> (Bonjour, professeure. Sommes-nous autorisés à fumer aussi?)  
> Good morning, teacher (a gendered version more used in Quebec than France). Are we allowed to smoke, too?
> 
> (Bon accent! Un peu canadien cependant.)  
> Good accent! A touch Canadian though.
> 
> (Le meilleur objectif! Mais non…)  
> The best goal! But no…
> 
> (Je suis dévasté par votre opinion de mon sexe.)  
> I’m devastated by your opinion of my gender.


	3. Still Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur works out, plays matchmaker, joins an after-dinner French club, and appreciates Mr Eames' cologne.

**Still Wednesday**

“Tell me you've made some headway, Dom,” Arthur said. He'd gone for a walk outside after classes were over, looking for the gym, and he'd decided to risk contacting Cobb on the cellphone.

“Oh, come on, Arthur. Boarding school can't be that bad.” Cobb sounded tired but amused. “Fredericks is out on a crab boat in the Bering Strait. You've got it easy.”

“Fuck, Dom. Did you consult a TV Guide for cover ideas? Who've you got working on a home show for HGTV?”

“Funny lad. How're you really doing?”

Arthur sighed. “I'm not a kid. I don't like most kids. And no matter how hard up I am, I'm not going to have sex with a kid. And since I'm supposed to be a kid, I can't even pull a teacher, supposing there was one I wanted that was willing to risk their job and possibly jail.”

“Arthur.” Cobb’s voice was very dry. “You called to complain because you're cockblocked by the cover that's keeping you alive? Did you lose the use of your hands from your nearness to death?”

Arthur blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, if you're going to minimize my pain…”

“I really think I am.”

Arthur laughed. “Are you safe, at least?”

“Yeah, for the moment. Got half the Company scrambling on this, so I expect results, but we're having trouble tracking the leak.”

“All right. I hate feeling useless though. You know I'm the best at finding information.”

“I know you are,” Cobb said quietly. “But you're also number one on Cobol’s hit list. Don't get all arrogant or anything, but yours is the biggest bounty by far. Who'd you piss off so much, Arthur?”

“Fuck if I know, Dom.”

“Keep your head down. But out of anyone’s lap, okay?”

“Fuck off, Dom.”

“I'd say the same to you, but that just wouldn't be wise, would it?”

Arthur hung up on him and followed the signs pointing to the gym.

The gym was really nice, to Arthur's surprise. It had a well-appointed weight room, an indoor track, an Olympic-sized pool, several hot tubs, a large and sunny dance studio, and several smaller studios, some with equipment, that probably served for everything from yoga to Pilates.

Drake was in one of the smaller studios, one with a padded floor, practicing aikido rolls.

Arthur watched from the doorway for awhile, until Drake rolled up to his feet and waved him in.

“Swear these saved my life once when I was thrown from a motorcycle,” Drake said with a grin.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Everyone tells that story.”

Drake laughed heartily. “All right, my wee skeptical friend. Shall we see what we can see?”

“I've done some martial arts,” Arthur warned, taking off his blazer.

“Ooo, got me in shivers, you do,” Drake mocked. “Not going to change out of uniform?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Wasn't planning to work that hard.” He slipped off the shoes. “I did take off the jacket,” he added generously.

Drake grinned ferally. “Oh mate, you better be worth your words.”

“Or what, you'll snap my wee slender form in two?”

“Nah, I'll hold back a little,” Drake promised, stepping towards him.

Arthur smiled and stepped in to fake a punch. When Drake caught his arm and started to turn them in a standard aikido twist and throw, Arthur swept his ankle and dropped them both into a grapple that ended up with Drake face down into the mat and his arm twisted up behind his back.

“Oh, you _tosser_!” Drake growled. “You've done some martial arts, have you? Fucking let me up and I'll stop going easy on you.”

“Big words from the one on the bottom.” Arthur let go of his arm and pushed up and away quickly to grin at Drake when he turned over.

Drake returned the grin and pushed to his feet. “All right then,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Bring it on.”

“Best four out of five?” Arthur offered.

“Fuck that noise,” Drake said and launched himself at Arthur.

They fought for an hour, laughing and insulting each other, until Arthur's alarm went off for dinner.

Drake wasn't bad at all for someone who’d clearly learned fighting on the streets with maybe a little polish in a dojo or MMA gym somewhere. But Arthur had trained obsessively growing up, refined it in the military, and branched out when he'd joined the Company. He was one of the most dangerous operators they had.

He held back without making it obvious that he was, he kept his uniform clothes in one piece, and he never let Drake take him down, but also never made it seem like he was playing with him.

“Fucking gods, Arthur! That was bloody amazing!”

“Do you have to make it sound like we just had sex?”

Drake roared with laughter. “Aw mate, you're a bit missing in the knockers and packing way too much in the crotch for me, not to mention bossy as fuck, but thanks.”

“Right, even though you've been face-down for me for an hour.”

Drake grinned. “Spar some more tomorrow?” he asked hopefully.

“You're on.”

Arthur showered quickly and changed for dinner and was grateful he'd done so as Ariadne bounced over to grab his arm as the room was starting to clear out after the meal. She gave him a exaggeratedly loud kiss on the cheek, getting the attention of most of the nearby students. Yusuf scowled at him fiercely.

He smiled down at her, wielding his dimples in a flashing return attack. “To what do I owe such an enthusiastic greeting, O proto-architectrix?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “The dimples are a smooth move, but the lines need some serious work.”

He laughed and dropped an equally exaggerated kiss on her forehead before spinning her to hold her back against his chest by her upper arms. “Yusuf. Want to share?” He raised an eyebrow in a comical leer as Yusuf cycled through jealousy, shock, calculation, horror, and embarrassment.

“I…you…what?” he stammered.

“Arthur,” Ariadne murmured. “C'est pas gentil. (That’s not nice.)”

“Je suis étonné que tu penses que j'étais. (I'm astonished that you thought I was.)” He winked at Yusuf as he rested his chin on top of Ariadne’s head.

“Mais c’est cruel. Il m'aime bien et je ne le déteste pas entièrement. (But that’s cruel. He likes me and I don’t entirely detest him.)”

Yusuf flapped his arms in agitation. “I speak French, you know!”

Arthur grinned at Yusuf as he felt Ariadne’s blush all the way up her scalp under his chin. She attempted to elbow Arthur sharply, for which reaction Arthur gave her full credit, but he'd held her by her upper arms for that very reason, and she didn't manage more than a jerk.

What did surprise him was the way she then held her hands out to Yusuf, palms up. She curled her fingers invitingly until Yusuf reluctantly laid his hands over hers.

“Then you are hereby formally invited to the first meeting of the “Why The Hell Aren't We In Paris Right Now” after-dinner club. Meeting begins as soon as this jerk lets me go, I hit him as hard as I can, and we make it through the corridors to our faculty advisor’s office.” She tugged Yusuf a little closer by his hands to make him lean in. “There's even a rumor Mal may have some wine or other spirits hidden in her office,” she whispered. She squeezed his hands gently. “Say you'll come with us?”

Arthur watched with great amusement as Yusuf flustered.

He released Ariadne and let her turn, tapping at his upper arm with a couple of fingers and offering it as a target. She didn't hesitate to punch his arm at all, which pleased him, and she had good aim, but no technique. He smiled at her, with extra dimples, as she wrung her hand. He wouldn't even have a red mark from that.

Yusuf glared at him and cradled Ariadne’s hand in his, examining it for damage, grumbling under his breath at the pink beginning to show under the skin of her knuckles. 

Ariadne paused, watching Yusuf’s face as he fussed over her hand. Then she slowly turned to look at Arthur, who winked. A wicked grin spread across her face and Arthur nodded, smiling.

“And it's not even my birthday,” she said, face lighting up. She gently tugged her hand free from Yusuf and bestowed a light kiss on the tip of his nose when he looked up to protest. “C'mon, we don't want to keep our faculty advisor waiting!” She flitted out of the dining room and Arthur and Yusuf followed.

Yusuf grabbed Arthur's arm, watching Ariadne walk ahead of them. “She likes me?”

“I believe the phrase was ‘doesn't entirely detest you‘ or something similar.”

“She likes me!”

“You're welcome.”

Ms Miles, or Mal as she apparently preferred, was waiting in her office.

“Arthur, mon cher (my dear), if you don't call me Mal at least in private, I shall fail you right out of French class and make you learn some frightfully difficult asiatique language in its place.”

“我已經說中文了 (Wǒ yǐjīng shuō zhōngwénle) I already speak Chinese,” Arthur replied with a smile.

“And I am going to assume that means something along the lines of ‘I already speak some frightfully difficult asiatique language’ and that I shall therefore have to be more creative in my threats.”

Arthur dimpled at her and held his hands up in surrender. She immediately pointed her cigarette at him. “Don't think those adorable little cheek dents will influence me.”

“Risk of escalation noted and understood,” he responded with his best straight face.

Mal gave him an amused look, then passed her gaze over Yusuf and Ariadne where they sat together on her office couch. Her mouth pursed as she took in the closeness with which they sat, the way Yusuf’s eyes never left Ariadne's face, the easy and slightly possessive way Ariadne pressed her shoulder into his arm. A brief look of bitterness passed over Mal’s face, but was replaced so quickly with a look of indulgence layered with mock disdain that Arthur almost thought he'd been mistaken.

“But we are here to speak of Paris, are we not?” she said, clapping her hands imperiously.

Arthur snorted as they both jumped slightly.

“Yusuf, why have I never seen you in my class before?” Mal pointed at him and Yusuf regarded her finger as if it were a weapon.

“I already speak French?”

“Then it would have been an easy class for you.”

Yusuf opened his mouth but Ariadne jumped in. “He's studying chemistry.”

“And he doesn't take nonessential courses,” Arthur added, with a slight smirk.

Yusuf shrugged.

Mal gave him a very stern look. “I also am a professor of chemistry and I will tell you that there is nothing wrong with nonessential courses.”

Yusuf frowned. “Then what are you doing teaching French in a boarding school?”

Mal raised her eyebrows. “You think I have come down in the world with this position?”

Yusuf scowled and looked down. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry for the assumption? Sorry for saying it aloud? Bah, ça ne fait rien, ce n'est rien (never mind, it's nothing),” Mal waved her hand dismissively. “I will say this, Yusuf. If your research is valuable, keep it hidden, keep it secret until it is ready. And be wary of those whom you trust with your secrets lest they use them against you.”

She rose abruptly and went behind her desk, bending beneath it. “But this is too gloomy! We are here to celebrate Paris, and we shall do so in the proper spirit. In Paris, of course, the age of legality for drinking is sixteen and I shall assume you all meet that.” She looked up to survey them with a sharp glance and received nods from all three. “Eh bien (Well then), we shall celebrate youth and possibilité with a bottle of the freshest of French wines, a beauty of a Beaujolais Nouveau. One meant to be drunk young, before the saveur (flavour) has faded.” She set a lovely bottle on her desk and fished out four wide-bellied wine glasses. “Gently chilled, not cold, the palest and sweetest of reds, a celebration of all that is new and bright.”

She poured the wine equally into the four glasses, emptying the bottle and setting it aside with a flourish.

“So, mes amis (my friends),” she gestured and picked up one glass, waiting until they had all chosen one. “Tell me of your dreams, your desires, your hopes. Ariadne, ma chère (my dear), you start, you with your love of buildings and cities and places for people. Of what do you dream?”

Arthur sipped the pleasant wine and listened to Ariadne prattle on enthusiastically, prodded here and there rather expertly by Mal whenever Ariadne slowed down. Yusuf was lost, focused on Ariadne, hand palm-up on his thigh, brightening every time she paused in her passionate gesturing and let her hand fall to rest in his.

Arthur smiled at that, and at Yusuf’s smitten expression. ‘Flustered and needy’ indeed. Well done, Ariadne, he thought.

Mal kept drawing his attention, though. He hadn't expected the darker layers under her lovely and vivid persona, though he supposed that was short-sighted of him. But as she drew Ariadne and Yusuf out in conversation, it became clear to him that she was using very familiar techniques. He'd used them himself in social engineering situations or interrogations. And she was very definitely not including him in her questioning.

She glanced over at him as Yusuf spun off on the beauty of a particularly complex molecular structure and Ariadne listened to him with a fascinated incomprehension.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, allowing a gentle query to cross his face, and she smiled with an infinitesimal headshake. Not now, he supposed she meant. Then she turned back to Ariadne and Yusuf with a look of proprietary pleasure, as if _she_ had been the one playing matchmaker, as Ariadne discovered her hand resting on Yusuf’s and blushed slightly.

A knock on the door interrupted Yusuf’s discourse on covalent bond angles or torsional angles, or whatever it was he'd gotten distracted by, and they all looked up as the office door creaked open and Mr Eames’ scruffy face peeked around.

“Oh, so sorry, Mal, didn't mean to interrupt…”

“Mais non (But no), do come in, mon ami (my friend). This is a club meeting.”

Mr Eames raised an eyebrow at the empty wine glasses. “Of course.”

Mal twinkled at him and held one finger in front of her mouth. “But of course it is a _French_ club and therefore perfectly acceptable, yes?”

Mr Eames laughed. “I am the last person who would be casting stones, Mal. I just came to see if you still had that coffee table book of Gauguin paintings?”

“I do, yes. But I thought you were not an admirer of poor Paul?”

“And I'm still not.” He rolled his eyes. “Damn post-impressionists. But I've a student I need to show how _not_ to do post-impressionism for his project.”

“Oh! So cruel,” Mal laughed. “There is more wine, and we are discussing Paris and architecture and chemistry and surely that is far more fascinating to you than the daubs of a painter you do not prefer.”

Mr Eames grinned and stepped fully into the office, nodding at Ariadne and Yusuf and Arthur. Arthur felt a slight flush of panic surge through him as Eames took the only seat left available, next to Arthur on the smallish loveseat. Eames was wearing his usual baggy, slightly rumpled sartorial choices, but his leg was pressed to Arthur's and the trousers were pulled snugly over his muscular thigh, and the warmth of his body seared Arthur's skin as if they were naked next to each other. Eames smiled at him, stretching one arm comfortably along the back of the loveseat.

Mal leaned to offer him a cigarette, but Eames shook his head with a rueful smile and reached into a jacket pocket to pull out a neat pack of small fragrant twigs and stuck one in his mouth a bit like a toothpick, settling it between his teeth and making subtle adjustments to it with his tongue.

Arthur's pulse stuttered and recovered to dance at a much faster pace and he tore his eyes away from Eames’ mouth. A gentle citrus fragrance wafted over as Eames chewed lightly on the end of the stick and moved it around in his mouth.

Ariadne leaned over Yusuf to peer at Eames, shrugging at his eyebrow. “Like I'm not going to ask why you're chewing on a twig,” she said.

“Chew sticks are a common thing in parts of Africa and India,” Eames replied with a smile. “Good for dental health and better for me than smoking.”

“Miswak,” Yusuf nodded. “Doesn't smell like the usual, though.”

Eames grinned at him, his eyes crinkling. “I prefer orange stick, or lime, or sassafras. Neem is a bit strong for me.”

Arthur knew sassafras was a sweet taste and he was struck with a sudden desire to taste Eames’ mouth after he'd been chewing sassafras twigs.

He forced himself to concentrate on the argument between Mal and Yusuf about chemically modifying sedatives for different purposes.

Eames’ body heat was burning against Arthur's leg and his faint cologne was a warm and subtle woody scent, with possibly a hint of bergamot, and it filled Arthur's nose and infiltrated his brain with thoughts of hot tea on cold days and fireplaces and soft blankets against bare skin and the gentle rasp of stubble against the inside of his thigh…

He shot to his feet, startling everyone in the room. “Er, so sorry, just remembered some homework I need to do tonight. This was lovely, thank you, let me know when we're going to meet next, good night.”

He didn't stop moving until he was safely back in his dorm room and pressing his forehead against the back of the door until he thought it might bruise.

This was now officially a problem.

Arthur jerked off frantically after peeling out of his clothes. He tortured himself with thoughts of Eames’ lush mouth on his cock, of those strong hands cupping his balls, holding his thighs down, his hips, that crooked pinky curling against the side of his body, the sweet burn of stubble on the soft skin between his hipbones. He wanted to hear that rich smoky voice roughen and demand, break and plead, moan and whisper, wanted to feel the strong body move against his, share a heated and urgent rhythm until they came trembling in chaotic thrusts. He wanted Eames inside him, hard and hot and slick, those crooked teeth in his shoulder, muscular mass weighing him down, moving until Arthur came untouched. He wanted to bend Eames over the bed and make him beg for Arthur's cock, make him moan helplessly with every thrust, turn him over and spread his legs and plunder him until he could only gasp out Arthur's name over and over…

Arthur came so hard he nearly blacked out. He lay in bed and panted until the spots cleared from his vision, then he rolled over and used a towel to clean himself off.

He was in his pyjamas and sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling, when Yusuf came back.

“What even the fuck, Arthur?”

“I don't think I want to talk about it, really,” Arthur said quietly.

“It's that bad.”

Arthur pressed his lips together and remained silent.

“Art class is going to be a real bitch even if you can avoid him the rest of the time.”

Arthur closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath before opening them. “I'll be under control then.”

“Under control? Arthur, we're teenagers. We don't _do_ control, remember?”

“Not helping, Yusuf.”

Yusuf grimaced and sat down on the edge of Arthur's bed. “Mr Eames was very confused when you left like that. Mal and Ariadne smoothed it over a bit. Said you were still adjusting to a new school, another country, that sort of thing. I don't know whether he bought it though.”

Arthur made a noncommittal noise and Yusuf scowled.

“Ariadne wants to be your cover, pretend to be your girlfriend. I, ah…I agreed.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “Christ, Yusuf, that's her worst idea yet.”

“Well, I know that! But…”

“No.” Arthur said it flatly, then opened his eyes and reached out to pat Yusuf's arm. “No, that isn't fair, and it isn't going to work. But thank you. Both of you.”

Yusuf looked relieved and guilty. “Um. She and I both want you to teach us some self-defense, if that's okay.”

Arthur smiled tightly. “Now that's a good idea. Tomorrow in the gym before dinner. Marcus Drake will be there too, and he'll be good help.”

Yusuf looked appalled. “But he's a violent criminal!”

“You say that after watching him handle Blondie with such restraint this morning?”

“Well…he _is_ a criminal. Was convicted and everything, spent time in juvie.”

“I trust him to teach and to help me. Is that good enough?”

Yusuf screwed his mouth to one side. “He better not make a pass at Ariadne…”

Arthur couldn't help the laugh. “Yusuf, just for the record, you'd have made the _worst_ secret boyfriend ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More possibly competently translated languages, somewhat assisted by Google Translate (again, if anyone has any corrections or changes, they'd be appreciated in the comments below):
> 
> (C'est pas gentil.) That’s not nice. 
> 
> (Je suis étonné que tu penses que j'étais.) I'm astonished that you thought I was. 
> 
> (Mais c’est cruel. Il m'aime bien et je ne le déteste pas entièrement.) But that’s cruel. He likes me and I don’t entirely detest him. 
> 
> (mon cher) my dear (masc)
> 
> (我已經說中文了 Wǒ yǐjīng shuō zhōngwénle.) I already speak Chinese. 
> 
> (ça ne fait rien, ce n'est rien) never mind, it's nothing
> 
> (Eh bien) Well then
> 
> (saveur) flavour
> 
> (mes amis) my friends (plural)
> 
> (ma chère) my dear (fem)
> 
> (Mais non) But no
> 
> (mon ami) my friend (masc)


	4. Thursday and Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur begins forming a small team, has a run-in with some would-be bullies, and learns he'll have to do an art project.

**Thursday**

Arthur couldn't quite shake his dreams the next morning. Even after jerking off quickly and quietly in the shower, erotic flashes kept rising while he was on his knees in morning mass. Mr Eames’ mouth, twig of a chew stick tucked into the corner, a flash of that luxurious smile. Remembering the muscular thighs, wondering how they would feel under Arthur's palms, how Mr Eames’ hands would feel curled in Arthur's hair if Arthur were kneeling in front of him right now instead of in a chapel…

Arthur was finding it difficult to pay attention to anything else right now and he was getting a little worried.

At breakfast, Ariadne bounced over as soon as Arthur and Yusuf had sat down.

“No,” Arthur said, holding up a hand.

Ariadne gave him a deeply disappointed glare. “But Yusuf and I were going to be all secret agent about our meetings and pass cryptic messages and everything.”

Arthur burst out laughing. “You would be the worst secret agent,” he said with a grin. “But I'll take a hug if there's still one on offer.”

Ariadne threw her arms around him enthusiastically. She was short enough that he was able to stay seated for the embrace, which made him smile.

“Oi mate, looks like you've a mad pixie attached to you - ought to get that seen to, really. I hear they breed fast and make a terrible infestation.”

“Go away, Drake,” Ariadne said into Arthur's shoulder without looking up. “There's nothing you could say to make me willing to do your math homework for you.”

“I wasn't asking, you wee imp, I'm just here to speak to Arthur.”

Ariadne scowled and moved away to stand in front of Arthur, crossing her arms. “What do you want with Arthur?” she demanded.

“As well as this is going so far for everyone concerned,” Arthur said wryly, standing and gently setting Ariadne aside. “Drake, how do you feel about doing a little self-defence teaching with me this evening?”

Drake tilted his head. “Wouldn't be averse but I'll warn you, your students probably won't like it.”

“Too late for that,” Yusuf muttered into his tea.

Drake frowned at Yusuf, glanced back at Ariadne, then focused on Arthur again. A lopsided grin flashed across his face. “Fuck yeah. These two? Oh wee Arthur, you've made my day.”

“What?” Ariadne squawked. “Arthur, you're not serious? And what's with the ‘wee Arthur’ crap?”

“Right then,” Drake said, still grinning. “You've given me so much to look forward to. I'm off, see you later.”

Arthur waved him off with a smile and turned to Ariadne, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “How would you like to learn how to throw Drake around like a rag doll?”

Her indrawn breath was almost sexual. “You are a very very bad person, Arthur, and I love you more deeply than anyone else in this world at this moment,” she said in a low, intense voice. Yusuf straightened and glared at Arthur.

“Yeah. That's what I figured. Better eat your breakfast and have a good lunch, my little guardian pixie sprite. You're going to want the energy later on.”

Arthur was grateful that his Tuesday/Thursday schedule didn't include art. With any luck…no, scratch that. He wasn't going to depend on luck to help him avoid Eames.

Word had apparently spread about his last name. As he walked through the corridor between classes, three sneering young men fell into step with him, and one of them slung an overly familiar arm around his shoulders.

“Oh Darling,” he said in a mocking sing-song tone.

Arthur stopped walking unexpectedly and ducked to let the the arm slide off as the guy continued forward another step in surprise.

“Sorry,” Arthur said pleasantly. “I have an aversion to being touched like that. Unpleasant experiences in America, you know. I don't react very well. Last time they gave me the option of coming here or going to prison, but I don't know, I think they were overreacting. It wasn't like they had to reattach his arm or anything, it wasn't _completely_ off. Just a little backwards.”

The three stared at him for a moment and Arthur blinked solemnly at them, then flashed a second’s mad grin before going back to solemn and tilted his head inquisitively. “Do you think British blood tastes any different from American? I've often wondered. I've heard about this ‘blue blood’ thing, but I think that phrase came about because rich people are paler than poor people who had to go work outside and so their veins show more clearly. So there may not be anything to it. Are any of you rich?”

They looked at each other and backed off, then turned to walk away quickly.

“Let me know if you're willing to experiment,” Arthur called after them. “I wouldn't want to cause a fuss. Again.”

He smiled to himself as he walked down the hallway until he heard another voice calling out “Darling? Darling!” behind him. _That_ voice caused an entirely different reaction to pool warmly in his abdomen.

He continued a few steps as if he hadn't heard, then glanced exaggeratedly at his watch, affected mild alarm, and trotted off down the corridor, escaping Eames in what he had to concede was a cowardly fashion, but hell if he was going to willingly complicate his day further by dealing with a off-limits sex god.

For the rest of the day, he genially smiled at the stares he got from various students. Laid-back, easy-going, insane. That was what he was striving to project. Inevitably, some dumb fuck was going to want to push his buttons just to see, but cutting down on the encounters beforehand was always a pleasant benefit.

Drake grinned hugely at him when he got to the gym after classes.

“You fucking nutter, you utterly jammy git, you've got those twits convinced you're daft as a two-headed billy goat and fourteen times as dangerous.”

Arthur held up a hand. “Hold on, I may have to look some of that up before I know how to respond.”

Drake roared with laughter, leaning back against the wall. “Oh fucking Christ, you should've heard them worrying whether you'd really pulled someone's arm off. Did you actually threaten to taste their blood?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “That would hardly be a sanitary practice.”

Drake lost it again, sliding down the wall and holding his stomach.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh my fucking god,” he moaned, clutching at himself.

Arthur shook his head. “Why is it always sex noises with you?”

“That is kinda what _my_ question would've been,” Ariadne mused behind him.

“I would like to state that I have no desire to know the answer to that question,” Yusuf added.

Arthur turned and smiled at them both. He noted with approval that both were in comfortable non-uniform clothing.

He lightly kicked at Drake. “Get up and prepare to be the bad guy. I want them to get used to tossing around someone your size.”

“Am I supposed to make it _easy_ on them?” Drake asked with a wolfish grin, rising to his feet easily to loom.

Arthur tilted his head. “I'll be teaching them properly. But don't worry, I'll try to make it easy on _you_.”

“Oi! I won't be some walk in the park for them!”

Arthur grinned at him and gestured Ariadne over. “First lesson, guardian pixie sprite, is to distinguish between hard spots and soft spots. Why, for instance, would you not try to hit Drake in the face?”

Drake snorted. “Besides the fact that she couldn't reach?”

Ariadne glared up at him. “Because I need my hands to build architectural models and it'd be like punching a wall.” She scanned him down and up. “Taking the height difference into account, I'm guessing genitalia, diaphragm, and maybe throat.”

Arthur nodded. “Not bad, depending on the situation. If he has you in a hold… Drake, _very gently_ please, grab her from behind. Now, Ariadne, what's in reach?”

She considered, then nodded. “With hands, his genitalia. With an elbow, his diaphragm. I could…stomp his foot really hard? So he can't chase me as well if I get free?”

Arthur nodded approvingly. “Or kick back at his knee. It's really not built to take pressure from the front very well. If he were shorter, you could snap your head back and break his nose, but he's too tall for that unless he picks you up. _Do not pick her up at this point, Drake_.”

“Awww.”

Ariadne attempted to glare at Drake over her shoulder.

“All right,” Arthur said, nodding at Ariadne. “ _Not_ full strength.”

“Wait, what…” Drake started, then squawked as she turned a little in his arms, elbowed him just below the ribs and pushed away to dance a little jig of delight as he let her go.

“Again! Harder!” she crowed.

“Oi! A little warning, mate!” Drake growled at Arthur, rubbing at his abdomen.

Arthur shrugged at him. “Were you not paying attention?”

Yusuf raised his hand. “He's not allowed to fight back?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Not today.”

Yusuf stepped forward with determination. “Then it's my turn.”

Drake opened his mouth and looked at Arthur, then sighed. “I agreed to this, didn't I?”

Arthur inclined his head with a slight smirk.

At dinner, they all sat together, Ariadne mockingly solicitous of Drake’s bruises and Yusuf only mildly glaring while she paid attention to someone other than him. He was feeling more confident now that Arthur had worked him through several bullying scenarios he'd already faced.

Drake was relaxed and teasing both Ariadne and Yusuf, and Arthur was pleased with the sense of comradeship that his small group had established, and the wary assessing looks they were being given from those who might've considered them targets.

He avoided looking across the dining room at the high table. Eames was there, frowning in his direction, and Arthur did not want to make eye contact.

Ariadne noticed, of course, and as soon as dinner was over, she nudged Arthur’s and Yusuf's shoulders in the direction of the exit and went to run interference.

Drake raised an eyebrow at Arthur but followed Ariadne to raise a fuss by ruffling her hair and dragging her scarf off, ‘accidentally’ draping it across Eames’ face and blocking his view of Arthur and Yusuf leaving.

Yusuf snickered. “You've got a guardian pixie sprite and a ginger wolf. Lucky you.”

“Be careful how you characterize others - it leaves you open for a designation you might not like.”

Yusuf cast him worried glances as they walked back to their dorm room to study. Arthur walked on serenely, saying nothing, counting on Yusuf’s uneasy imagination to be Arthur's best weapon.

**Friday**

The next morning, Arthur woke from a dream where Eames was murmuring poetry in his ear while pressing him against a wall, fully clothed against Arthur's naked skin. Arthur blinked awake to find himself grinding his hips slowly into his bed, sheets clutched in his fists.

He rolled out of bed and grabbed his shower kit and towel and went down the hall to claim a shower stall, biting his lip as he used his hand on himself.

His brain went AWOL again in morning mass and, in an effort to stop thinking of Eames, he mentally disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled every model of gun he could recall handling.

It wasn't as effective as he could have hoped. He really hadn't fully calculated how easily thoughts of lightly oiling gun components would lead to thoughts of lightly oiling art instructors.

The encounter he had on the way to breakfast was a lot more effective in clearing his head, even if it did initially involve him on his knees. Since there were no weapons involved, he allowed himself a very brief moment to indulge in a little bewilderment about how much kneeling he was doing lately as he was surrounded and two of the guys pushed him down by his shoulders and held his arms out. There were two more on either side of them, and three in front of him.

Arthur calmly tipped his head back a bit to look up at the leader and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, Darling, it appears we have a problem,” the leader sneered.

Arthur looked thoughtful. “I think you should probably define ‘we’ for your hangers-on. Is ‘we’ only going to involve physical consequences for you, for the two currently touching me, for everyone who isn't clever enough to walk away right now? As a leader, they surely look to you to…”

The idiot back-handed him across the face, a ring cutting Arthur's lip. Arthur had rolled his head to the side to ride the blow, but the taste of blood on his mouth filled him with a cold fury. He took a deep breath to push it down and touched his tongue tip to the cut on his lip.

When he lifted his eyes to look at the leader again, the two boys standing with him took involuntary steps back.

Another young man came around the corner and stopped in surprise at the scene. “Richardson!” he said, stepping forward. “What in hell are you playing at right now?”

Arthur noted the way most of the guys surrounding him paid him more deference than to their leader.

Richardson scowled at the interruption. “Back off, Fischer, nobody asked you to interfere.”

“Seven to one, and he's bleeding on his knees in front of you? Damn right I'm going to interfere.”

“Don't bother,” Arthur said quietly, a one-sided smile pulling at the cut and making it bleed more. He licked it away again.

Fischer frowned at him. “I…”

Arthur hauled his arms in to his body, yanking the boys holding them off balance, knocking their heads together. As they let go and fell away, he dropped to all fours and swept his leg out to topple the other boy who had stood to the right, then launched himself to the side to take hold of the other one to his left. He threw that boy into the three who'd been in front of him, then pulled the leader, Richardson, up out of the squirming pile. He stepped back and forced Richardson to his knees, facing his audience. Arthur stood behind him, holding one arm up behind his back and pulling his head back by his hair. Richardson struggled until Arthur applied enough pressure to his arm to threaten dislocation.

“I think,” Arthur said calmly, looking down at Richardson’s upside-down face, “that we should continue our discussion of consequences.”

Fischer glanced around at the groaning boys with a stunned expression. “Richardson, you're a moron. In the real world, there are repercussions for picking the wrong target.”

“Including,” Drake added from where he was leaning against the wall, arms folded, “knowing whether your target has backup. Not that it looks like I was needed, mind you.” He touched two fingers to his forehead at Arthur with a wry grin.

Arthur nodded at him with a slight smile. “Wouldn't have wanted you to risk an interview with your probation officer.”

“Aww, I'm touched. Always looking out for your mates, are you? Planning anything for that sackless fucknut you've got there? Looks like he owes you blood, at least.”

Richardson whimpered a little as Arthur considered him. Fischer cleared his throat lightly.

Arthur met Fischer’s eyes and smiled. “No,” he answered Drake. “I think I just want breakfast. Also, I'd hate to get tossed out of another school. He can keep his arm.” He shoved Richardson forward to fall at Fischer’s feet and turned to head for breakfast, Drake pushing away from the wall to walk beside him.

They turned two corners before Drake tugged him into a handy bathroom. “Jesus Christ, what'd he hit you with?” Drake asked as he wet a wad of paper towels and dabbed at Arthur’s lip.

Arthur wrinkled his nose and took the paper towels from Drake to dab at the cut himself. “He had a ring on and thought he'd be a big man and backhand me.”

“That fucker! Fuck my probation, I'm gonna fucking go back and fuck him up for that shit.”

Arthur snorted. “Good to know your language skills don't suffer under stress.”

Drake rubbed at his nose with a little laugh. “You didn't need my help.”

Arthur met his eyes in the mirror. “I would have welcomed it. If any of them had had any training, that could've gone bad very easily.”

“But you knew they hadn't any training.”

“It didn't seem probable based on how they moved and where they stood, and how they grabbed me.”

Drake shook his head with a rueful smile. “Shouldn't leave you to walk about alone. But your boy Yusuf's not much use…”

“Yet.”

“…although Ariadne is gonna be pissed as fuck when she sees your face.”

“Oh god, Ariadne,” Arthur groaned. “Don't tell her who it was.”

“You protecting that maggoty fuckwit?”

“From Ariadne? I don't want her to take up hunting just yet.”

Drake laughed. “That's what you get for empowering the little people.”

Arthur grinned at him, then hissed a little as his lip pulled. “Maybe I'll skip breakfast,” he said ruefully.

In French class, Mal met him with a hug and then held his shoulders to lean back and study his face closely. She gave him a sympathetic look and shook her head.

“Mon pauvre Arthur (My poor Arthur),” she said, kissed his cheek, and gave him a little shove toward his seat.

Ariadne was sitting in the seat next to his and she sat straight up, staring at his cut lip. Then she glared at him and went into a rant about news of damage to a historical building in Paris and what should be done to the perpetrators and whether he knew what kind of music Yusuf liked and did Arthur think Yusuf would mind if Ariadne bought some clothes for him because he wasn't exactly the most sharp-dressed boy in school, was he, and what did Arthur think about the right kinds of sword fighting for shorter people and was she really going to be able to beat Drake up once she got more skilled?

He rested his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand and regarded her until she ran down, frowning at him. Then he smiled at her, dimples in view, and said simply, “Thank you,” before turning to face Mal as class started. She kicked the side of his foot gently and settled back in her seat.

She took his arm as they left French class and never let go as they walked to Art.

He sighed. “I'm _fine_ , Ariadne, but thank you.”

She turned a stubborn look on him.

“Is this more about my getting into a fight or having to see a teacher I'm in lust with?”

“I will hear about this fight, won't I?” Her tone made it clear it wasn't a question.

“Not at the moment, but yes.”

“The fight, whatever it was about, isn't what's bothering you, so I must be more worried about the teacher, mustn't I?”

Arthur snorted. “If you really wanted to help, you'd let me stop at a bathroom for a few important minutes.”

Her eyebrows drew together and she screwed her face up and then she dissolved in giggles. “Oh my _god_ , Arthur! Don't joke about masturbation around me!” She dragged him into class.

“I wasn't really joking,” he said, glancing at the front of the room. Eames wasn't there yet and Arthur's shoulders relaxed slightly.

Ariadne nudged him into his seat and plopped down next to him.

“Are you going to hover over me all the time?” Arthur asked dryly. “Poor Yusuf will pine.”

“You leave Yusuf in _my_ hands.”

“Gladly,” Arthur replied with a nose wrinkle. Ariadne smacked his shoulder.

“You're such a smartass!”

“Are you just now noticing?”

Ariadne crossed her arms and glared. “I will not let a _friend_ , which you still are at this point, suffer unnecessarily.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And what do you propose will keep such suffering at bay?”

Ariadne opened her mouth but at that moment Mr Eames walked into the room and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“There you are, Darling! Dear god, have you been in a fight?” He came forward and took Arthur by the chin gently, lifting his face to examine his mouth closely.

Arthur’s breath caught and then he forced down his physical response and managed a cool eyebrow and a slight smile. “A very minor disagreement and an accident. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Eames gave him a long thoughtful look before letting him go and stepping back. Arthur immediately missed the warm touch of his fingers and glanced down.

“Well,” Eames said. “I meant to say, we need to discuss your project.”

“Project,” Arthur said with a frown, looking back at him.

“You weren't here for the first few days of class, so of course we didn't talk about it. Each of my students must complete an art project before the end of the term. You'll need to come to my office after class to discuss it.”

Arthur opened his mouth and then closed it again to nod. Well fuck, he thought. So much for avoiding Eames.

He avoided Eames.

Damning himself for a coward the whole time, he slipped away in the midst of students leaving the classroom and went to the gym instead, working out way too hard, until he had to collapse bonelessly on the floor by the weights to recover.

Clearly continuing to make all the best decisions, he then joined Drake to teach Ariadne and Yusuf throws and rolls. At least he managed to make Drake demonstrate most of the time.

Ariadne was fearless about throwing herself at the floor and Arthur grinned back at her delight every time she did it right. Yusuf was far more cautious but Arthur took equal pleasure in his growing confidence.

He and Drake demonstrated some serious holds, Arthur manfully suppressing his winces, and emphasized that, against skilled opponents, you'd need strength as well as technique. Ariadne agreed to start weight training almost before he finished his recommendations, and even Yusuf reluctantly agreed to set aside some time for it once he recognized the stubborn look beginning to cross Ariadne’s face.

Then he spent a little time talking with his small pack on relaxed awareness of their environment, the kind of mindset needed to keep a low-grade perception of the people around them, the physical environment they might be in, and risk and threat assessment.

“Practice,” he said with a serious look. “Every time you remember to, look around and assess. Before you know it, you'll be doing it automatically and you won't need to think about it until something comes to your attention.”

It was interesting to glimpse Robert Fischer lurking in the hallway outside of the studio door, obviously listening to what Arthur was saying, but he slipped away when he realized Arthur had seen him.

At dinner, Arthur was still avoiding Eames’ stare. He glanced around to catch Yusuf giving him a thoughtful look.

“What?” he asked flatly, hoping to discourage him.

“Behavioral inconsistencies,” Yusuf said with a peculiar look.

Drake, sitting on Arthur's other side, leaned around him to raise an eyebrow at Yusuf. “He's observant for sure, Arthur, but either he's got no sense of self-preservation or he's having trouble recognizing dangerous situations.”

Arthur couldn't help the tiny smile that tucked up the corner of his mouth.

Yusuf frowned at them both. “I'm just saying that timorous behavior is not something I would ever have suggested Arthur was capable of and yet…”

Ariadne, on Yusuf’s other side, elbowed him sharply.

Drake snickered. “Now Arthur, I'm sure it's not Yusuf’s intention to call you a coward.”

Ariadne snickered in turn. “Now Arthur, I'm absolutely sure it's Drake’s intention though.”

“Oi, you wee imp, keep your snub nose out of this!”

“Oh that's so sweet Drake, but sorry, I've already got a boyfriend.” Yusuf straightened next to her, forgetting her recent elbow to glare at Drake. “Of sorts,” she added, smirking at Yusuf, just to see him fluster.

“Wasn't an offer, pipsqueak. I'd just end up splitting you down the middle.”

“Oh god, so much _eww_!” Ariadne yipped, leaning way back.

Arthur sighed. “Just…distract him for me, will you?”

“While you make another run for it?” Drake said, getting up and coincidentally moving out of easy range. “Hate to admit it but stout and curly there has a point. Why're you avoiding him so hard?”

Ariadne hissed at Drake, shaking her head, but Yusuf was the one who plowed obliviously through her warning. “Arthur feels an inappropriate sexual attract… _oof_ …” He doubled over as Ariadne smacked his stomach.

“ _Ohhhh_ ,” Drake said as Arthur took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and held the bridge of his nose. “Wow, so scruffy, badly dressed, porn lips is your type? I'd have never guessed, if I'm honest.”

“I am perfectly capable of murdering you all in your beds and leaving no evidence whatsoever,” Arthur said calmly.

“Funny how we ended up in bed all of a sudden.” Drake leered at him comically and sauntered off towards the high table.

Ariadne patted Arthur's shoulder as she dragged him out of the dining hall. “You can teach me about throwing knives next and I bet I know where we can find a big ginger target, right?”

“…that's far too tempting at the moment.” Arthur stalked out, fighting shame at the retreat, but retreating all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit for Ariadne as Arthur's guardian pixie sprite, of course, goes to EarlGreyTea68 and her HGTVerse. You may notice a few (dozen) other references scattered about through the story. I swear, they’re mostly unconscious and I only notice them when I’m proofreading!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> (Mon pauvre Arthur) My poor Arthur


	5. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has...well, Arthur has a...umm...a _hard_ morning, Mal comes to the rescue for the second half of it, there's an impromptu team meeting where Robert Fischer drops by, and Cobb issues a warning.

**Saturday**

Arthur was pinned back against the wall, Eames pressing him there, mouth hot and demanding. Arthur had his hands fisted in Eames’ shirt for support and Eames was hard against his hip, rubbing against Arthur as he shifted to push Arthur’s legs apart slightly.

Arthur didn't remember how they got there, didn't really care, could only remember the way Eames’ lashes had fluttered down over his darkened eyes as he'd leaned in to kiss him, the way one of Eames’ hands had cupped the back of Arthur's head as the other pulled Arthur's hip closer, the way Eames had pulled him even more off-balance, forcing Arthur to hold on to him.

He moaned as Eames licked his mouth open, dependent on him for support, for air, for the burning arousal that was uncoiling within him. Eames growled against his mouth, biting at his bottom lip until Arthur whined, squirmed against him, struggled to spread his thighs wider.

He would have begged but he couldn't remember words, couldn't respond with anything but the whining noises that seemed to bubble up from his stomach, his chest, that pushed past the way his throat tightened when Eames trailed his mouth down to bite under his jaw and pressed a hard kiss to the hollow between his collarbones, then the hollows above them.

He let his head fall back to hit the wall behind him, his own teeth buried in his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut as he concentrated on the burning trails Eames’ mouth was leaving along his collarbones, his shoulders, the way Eames’ hands were holding him tightly enough to bruise. He gasped as Eames bit at the top of his shoulder, holding the flesh between his teeth and sucking to bring blood to the surface. Arthur knew it would leave a spectacular mark, dotted with crooked indents.

He made a helpless noise at the thought of carrying Eames’ mark for days beneath his clothes and then Eames’ hand was moving down to wrap around him and Arthur cried out and climaxed at just that touch, clutching onto Eames’ shirt desperately as he arched into him, straining up onto his toes and quivering into the relentless grip.

When he opened his eyes, it was his dorm ceiling above him, his hands twisted in his own sheets, a damp stickiness on his stomach announcing his first wet dream since his early teens.

Arthur was _appalled_.

He glanced across the room to where Yusuf was snoring into his pillow, furiously grateful for how heavily his roommate slept.

The morning’s mass saw Eames kneeling in the row directly in front of Arthur, his broad shoulders drawing Arthur's eyes even under the baggy sweater he wore.

He'd never seen Eames in Mass before, and he had a sinking feeling he was going to be ambushed.

The aura of his wet dream still lingered and he couldn't take his eyes off of the man - the mildly infuriating cowlick that Arthur twitched to smooth down, how the hairs tapered down shorter and shorter to a neat line against the nape of his neck, leaving the area behind his ears bare where Arthur knew he himself was so sensitive. He visually traced how the muscles and tendons of his neck spread gracefully down into his shoulders, the shift of his shoulder blades as his arms moved.

Arthur found himself hopelessly distracted by the broad spread of Eames’ back. He wanted to slide his hands up under the sweater, feel the ripple of muscle under warm skin, wanted to taste Eames’ skin, trace the edges and creases and folds of that body with his tongue.

He stood and knelt mechanically when Eames did, not following the mass; lost in erotic daydreams, he was surprised when it ended and people began filing out of the chapel. He glanced around, then back at Eames, startled to find him standing in front of him, so very close, his sudden and silent approach making Arthur jump a bit, an entirely unfamiliar reaction for him. Eames had a stern expression on his face, but those changeable bluegreengrey eyes were thoughtful.

“You've been avoiding me,” Eames said quietly. “We still have an art project to discuss.”

“I…yes.” Arthur shut his mouth, not wanting to stumble over apologies like a teenager.

Eames crossed his arms. “My office, now.”

Arthur schooled his face to what he hoped was his usual expressionlessness. “Yes, Mr Eames.”

“After you, then,” Eames said, gesturing Arthur to precede him.

He couldn't help the quirk that moved his mouth. “Are you afraid I'll run away if I'm following you?”

Eames raised a cool eyebrow. “Haven't you been?”

He glanced down. “You…have a point.” He turned to leave the chapel, supremely aware of Eames behind him, which made walking through the hallways to Eames’ office especially torturous.

He stopped next to Eames’ office door and let him unlock it. Eames gestured him in and started to close the door behind them both.

“Arthur!” Mal’s voice was the most welcome thing Arthur had heard all day, no matter how early in the morning it was. “ _There_ you are.”

Arthur caught a flash of a wary look from Eames as they both turned to Mal, but Eames spoke casually, his easygoing smile in place.

“Why Mal, whatever has you looking for Darling here so early on a Saturday?”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at Arthur. “You have still not seen the school nurse about _that_ , have you?” She waggled a dramatic finger at the cut on his mouth.

Arthur touched it lightly, knowing it looked far worse than it felt, and winced a little for effect before shrugging. “I told you yesterday it was nothing…”

“Mais non (No), you will come with me this instant!” Mal actually stamped her foot, and Arthur wanted to applaud - she was beautifully over-the-top and yet still essentially herself. She scowled at Arthur and then turned a melting smile on Eames. “Mon ami (My friend), I beg forgiveness for interrupting. Surely your discussion can happen while the nurse is tending to ce jeune imbécile (this young idiot)?”

Eames gave her a wry smile. “A discussion about an art project can certainly happen anywhere,” he agreed easily. “Or anytime, really. Go submit to the nurse and see me later today, Darling.”

“Yes, Mr Eames,” Arthur said, slipping past him out the office door and trying not to breath in his scent on the way.

He and Mal walked down the corridors to the nurse’s office, Mal scolding him lightly in French the entire way.

Ariadne was waiting there and she brightened as they turned the corner, peering around them to be sure they were alone. “It worked?”

“Mais bien sûr, petite (Of course, little one). But now Arthur must see the nurse and let her cluck over his injury. And then,” she gave Arthur a long look, “I will bring him back to _my_ office and we will talk.”

Ariadne nodded, grinning adoringly at Mal. “I'll go fetch Yusuf and Drake and meet you there.”

Arthur sighed and let the matronly nurse fuss over him, refusing both stitches and extensive bandaging, finally allowing her to carefully place a tiny butterfly plaster over it and promising on the lives of his unborn children to keep the cut clean and not reopen it.

“Very rakish,” Mal commented dryly as they left. “Are you hoping it will heal with or without a scar?”

Arthur gave her a sidelong look. “Dropping the outrageously French thing for the moment?”

She smiled serenely. “Only for the moment. It is a thorough protection against most, after all. If I am easily categorized, then I am easily dismissed, yes?”

“A useful trick,” Arthur allowed. “Are you in hiding or something?”

A bitter twist to the finely drawn lips. “I am in limbo while others decide my fate.”

“An unpleasant situation to be in.”

She nodded at him. “You are right to be cautious, Arthur. This school holds many secrets, but I will tell you those that I know.”

“Why?”

“Because your actions thus far have led me to believe you are as honorable a young man as you are allowed to be. And because I may, in the future, require assistance beyond that which a schoolboy may offer.”

“Seems an abrupt decision. And I'm curious to know why you think I'm _not_ a schoolboy.”

“Is it so unusual for one operator to recognize another? You have not exactly been hiding your capabilities or predilections.”

Arthur smiled. “Is it so difficult to believe that an American kid exiled for rough behavior might act in such a way?”

Mal laughed. “As I doubt you could have comfortably maintained a timid bullied type of cover, I think you were wise to pick a bad boy.”

“You make it difficult for me to avoid disappointing you.”

“So careful! Will you be revealing yourself to your little pack? But no, that would not be clever, would it? Nor safe for them.”

“Very little is safe in life. You do what you can to reduce risks, then you move forward as needed,” Arthur said, shrugging.

“Even when making those decisions for the innocent?” Mal stopped in the hallway to study his face carefully.

Arthur regarded her evenly. “If I had innocents in my charge, I would be more careful with the consequences to their lives than a drunk driver would be.”

She laughed. “That is hardly a recommendation! You are better than a random disaster, yes, that much I agree! Ah, Arthur.” She looked away with a sad smile. “There are consequences for the decisions we make.”

“There are consequences for everything. Even for not deciding.” He watched her thoughtfully. “Or for letting others decide for us.”

“Un touché, chéri (A touch, darling). Very well, I must hope for your good intentions for the children who tag along with you.”

Arthur scoffed. “Children. Do you really think of them as children?” He made a sudden gut decision and turned to face her fully, taking her chin in his hand to study her. “Did an op go bad for you? Did you lose people?”

She stared at him expressionlessly. “You think I have lost an edge? That I have gone soft and scared?”

“I think someone was made to suffer as the result of your actions and you were probably forced to watch.”

She closed her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line, and inhaled sharply, then lifted her chin out of his hand and stepped back. “Your perception does not disappoint. Your compassion, however…”

“Is compassion what you need?”

Her eyes, when they opened, were sharp and fierce. “What is it,” she asked softly, “that I need?”

Arthur gave her a sharp and fierce smile. “Revanche (Revenge)/span>. Would that not serve?”

A light rekindled in her, and her mouth curved up, cold and anticipatory. “C'est exactement ce que je veux (That is exactly what I want).”

“Then perhaps we can help each other.”

Mal nodded. “Let us go soothe your concerned pack.”

He gestured and they continued to her office where Ariadne, Yusuf, and Drake were waiting.

Mal laughed lightly. “My dears, why all the concerned faces? He was not in the lair of a lion!”

Ariadne frowned. “Mr Eames was marching him though the corridors like a prisoner and Arthur had no expression. That's why I came and got _you_.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Way to exaggerate, Ariadne. I mean, I'm grateful for the rescue and all, but it's not like he's planning to shoot me.”

She huffed. “He was watching your backside like he was planning _something_.”

“That…is less than helpful, thanks.”

“You've been weird about him since the first day you saw him,” Yusuf said with a scowl.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Which was four days ago, if you count today, so it's not as if there's a lot of basis to work from.”

Drake was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Quit diverting the questions,” he said with amusement.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I being interrogated?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Do you think it would help?”

Drake laughed and then yawned. “It's too early in the morning for an interrogation.”

Ariadne snorted. “It's nearly lunchtime.”

“Were you making a salient point, pixie?” Drake blinked her lazily.

“Ooo, that's a big word for you. Have you got a word-of-the-day app on your phone?”

“Children,” Mal said warningly with an arch look at Arthur. He smiled and shrugged.

Drake sniffed and looked down his nose at Mal. Even leaning against the wall, he was almost a head taller than her. “Who are you calling a child, Ms Miles?”

“You are Marcus Drake, yes?”

“Last time I checked.”

“Do you think that you are so tall that I cannot put you over my knee at need?”

Drake’s eyebrows came together and he flicked a glance at Arthur, who gave him a bland look. “Uh, I'm gonna guess that this is a trick question. So consider my question withdrawn, yeah?”

Yusuf leaned to Ariadne and whispered in her ear with a grin. She laughed and nodded. “Yup. Looks like yon ginger wolf is trainable after all.”

“Oi, I'll have no problem at all with either or both of _you_ limp noodles.”

“Drake,” Arthur said.

He threw his arms up. “Fine. Then explain to me what the situation is, ‘cause I'm mightily confused. You fancy the scruffy prof but you're not gonna have a trouser snake fight ‘cause what, you're not legal? Like you really care about that? Is he so hot you can't control yourself? If you're that bad off, mate, I'll be happy to sort you out even though god _knows_ you're not my type. What will it take to get your head right?”

Ariadne blinked at him. “I take it all back. You're my absolute favorite forever and ever.”

“Hey!” Yusuf said, glaring.

Arthur snorted and let his head drop, cradling his forehead in his hand. “All right, first off, thank you Drake for the offer, but hell no. Second, Ariadne, ease down girl. I know you've had a shortage of testosterone in your surroundings but that response was predictable as all hell and I'm disappointed in you. Third, Yusuf, grab a clue. If you can see what that does for her and you don't follow up, that's all on you.” He took a deep breath. “In answer to your direct question, Drake, I have no goddamn idea. He's not anything I've gone for before and I don't know why in hell he affects me like this. And it pisses me off and worries me because _I'm not like this_. And I don't…There's something about him…” Arthur trailed off in frustration.

Mal laughed softly. “Ah well, Eames. He is le coquin (a rogue), the most roguish of scoundrels, is he not? Will it help you to know he is a forger and a thief?”

“ _No_!” Ariadne bounced on her toes. “Tell us!”

“C’est vrai (It's true). A true talent - I myself suspect at least one piece in the Louvre and a dozen or more in other collections. He is just that good. A little cocky, a bit of a piqûre arrogante (arrogant prick), yes? But an even better thief. Rumors of his exploits are only whispered. Un voleur sans égal (A thief without equal), if one listens to the stories. So then, how does this semi-legendary thief, sans pareil (beyond compare), come to be caught, fingers firmly in the cookie jar, at what should have been yet another perfect job?”

“My father set him up.” Arthur and Drake had seen Robert Fischer hovering in the corridor outside, but Ariadne and Yusuf both jumped a mile.

Mal gave him a sour smile. “So indeed, young master Fischer.”

Robert flinched a little at that, but lifted his chin and stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “Just like he arranged for your research to be ‘leaked’ and facilitated a few fatal overdoses.”

“Just so,” she agreed, watching him. “So that I would then be dismissed and blacklisted and have nowhere to turn but to him. And since I have always kept a vital piece of the research only in my head, it is that I find myself teaching French at a children's school until I surrender it.”

Robert nodded. “And Eames is here until he agrees to do a few jobs, my father having used his connections at the Vatican to ‘intercede on his behalf.’”

“He was robbing the Vatican?” Ariadne asked incredulously.

Robert flicked a brief sad smile at her. “My father commissioned him and betrayed him. He'd most likely have gotten away with it otherwise.”

“Bloody buggering fuck,” Drake said. “He set him up to rob the bleeding Pope, and now he's got to teach art to snot-nosed kids at a Catholic school? Just how fucked up is your da?”

Robert looked down. “He…collects people. People he thinks would be useful.”

“Useful,” Drake said flatly. “Who the fuck _is_ your da?”

Mal bared her teeth. “Maurice Fischer, head of Fischer-Morrow, one of the three biggest energy conglomerates in the world.”

Arthur blinked. The others were Cobol and Proclus Global. Fischer-Morrow was in bed with Cobol, and Saito, head of Proclus Global, had commissioned the Company to look into the Cobol/Fischer-Morrow deal. Surely Cobb hadn't known when he'd sent Arthur here to hide. _Surely_ he hadn't.

Robert looked quietly miserable.

“So why are you here?” Yusuf asked bluntly.

“I…come to talk to Mal. I don't like what my father’s done.”

“Why are you sniffing around after Arthur?” Drake asked, just as bluntly. Robert flinched a little as he glanced at Drake, then quickly away.

So that's the way _that_ wind blows, Arthur thought whimsically. He wondered if Drake was aware of Robert’s attraction.

“I've been wanting to ask him…to see if he'd teach me…” Robert sighed, shoulders sagging as he scrubbed at his face. “Look. I hate what my father is doing, but I'm his heir. If I can hang in there until I've got control of the company, then I can make major changes for the better. But if he doesn't hand off to me, then control of the company will go to a group led by my godfather, and they'll be even worse. I've got a long game to play and I've been looking for all the help I can get.”

Arthur studied him. “What makes you think you can trust any of us?”

Robert lifted his chin. “I trust my assessment of your interactions. The way you formed this little association, the way you lead it, your control in reacting to attacks, the fact that Mal trusts you.”

Drake huffed. “That's a hell of a fast assessment.”

Robert squared his shoulders and turned to look at him. “My upbringing encouraged the formation of certain skill sets.”

Drake pushed away from the wall to loom over him. “And why should _we_ trust _you_?”

Robert swallowed but lifted his chin, not backing down at all. “I don't have an answer for that. I hope you will, because I am certainly placing myself in your hands.”

“And what help do you want from a pack of outsider schoolkids?” Arthur asked, watching Drake posture with a faint smile.

“I want…to learn how to do what you do. How to…lead. How to be in command the way you are.”

“Except for art teachers apparently,” Drake muttered.

“But that's exactly it!” Robert insisted. “He's got a situation he's maybe not handling right but he's got you all to help with it. That's what I mean. He's been here less than a week and already has a team to watch his back and compensate for any weaknesses. I need that! I need to be able to do that!”

“Hey, chill out,” Ariadne said, putting a hand on his arm. “We'll help. However we can.”

“Even if it's just to manage your expectations,” Yusuf added with an eyeroll. “Don't know how you've managed to mistake us for a ‘team’ but…”

“Deal with it, short and curly,” Drake said, laying a heavy hand on top of Yusuf's head. He scowled and shoved Drake’s hand off but made no other move away. Ariadne snickered.

Arthur shrugged at Robert. “If you think you can stand the company, fine. Might tell your friends you've decided Drake and I can teach you self-defense. That should take care of most questions.”

Robert’s face lit up and it transformed him from a pretty kid with big eyes to a dangerously beautiful temptation. Arthur felt a little visceral pull even though he wasn't remotely interested, but Drake looked a bit like he'd been hit by a truck. No, it'd be a lorry, wouldn't it? Either way, Drake was clearly in trouble.

Mal hurriedly lit up a cigarette, her eyes dancing when Arthur's met hers. “Well then, mes amis, I think that settles that. Run along, Robert, and start your groundwork. The rest of you, sortez, sortez (get out, leave). Arthur, see me later.” She flapped her hand at them all languorously.

Arthur had a rather urgent cell phone call to make anyway, so he nodded at her and herded his ‘team’ out into the corridor before heading outside alone, dialing as he walked toward the trees.

“Cobb. Death wish or just bad intel?”

“Uhh…can I ask for a little more specificity?”

“Fischer-Morrow uses this school as a cache for persons of interest to Maurice Fischer, including a potentially rogue ex-commando chemist and a double-crossed forger. His son and heir, Robert, attends and has asked me for self-defense lessons.”

The silence on the other end of the call was _almost_ worth it.

“Do I need to pull you out?” Cobb finally asked.

“No. So far, only the ex-commando chemist has me figured, but she wants help. I haven't sorted the forger yet, but that's going to have be next.”

“Give me names, Arthur, something to work with.”

“Mallorie Miles, the French teacher here, is the chemist. I'm assuming COS since she's native Parisian. Eames, no other name yet, is the thief and forger.”

“Holy hell, _Eames_ is there?”

“Dresses like a well-to-do hobo, crooked little finger on right hand, scar bisecting right eyebrow…”

“Yes, yes. Best in the business, dropped out of view a couple months ago after a kerfluffle at the Vatican.”

“What the hell is a kerfluffle? Never mind. Yes, apparently Fischer set him up for a trap.”

“Damn. Speaking of death wishes…”

Arthur felt his eyebrow rise. “You'd consider Eames dangerous?”

“I'd consider that he'd give _you_ a run for your money. Why? Didn't you see it?”

“I knew there was something, but not to that extent. He _is_ good.”

There was a pause. “Arthur. You don't want to get involved with Eames.”

Arthur reached the trees and sat down under one, leaning back against the trunk and watching the school buildings.

“Arthur. Tell me you're not involved with Eames.”

“I'm not involved with Eames.”

“Dammit, Arthur! He's the biggest danger to your cover there!”

“Not the ex-commando, not the heir to Fischer-Morrow?”

“He's a thief! He'd turn you in for whatever he could get in exchange!”

“You know this?”

“That's his reputation. For fuck’s sake, Arthur, don't let your gonads take over your decision-making process.”

“Not sure why you think that would happen.”

“Maybe because you have a danger fetish, a competency kink, and the few photos of Eames show him with a mouth that gay men would probably sell a kidney to get access to?”

Arthur paused, fighting down a smile. “You might know me too well, you bastard. Anyway, you dropped me in this, so ultimately, it's on you.”

“Arthur…”

“I also want you to look up a Marcus Drake, another student here. Possibly on some sort of community goodwill scholarship or something.”

“Another person of interest or a plant?”

“I don't think so. I read him as a street kid trying to do something better. He’ll have a record, though. I just…I trusted him from the start and he's got a hell of lot of potential. If I don't make it out of this clusterfuck, make sure you grab him. He'd do well at the Company. Also, Robert Fischer has the thigh sweats for him, so there might be potential leverage there.”

“There's the Arthur we know and dread.”

“Fuck off, Cobb,” Arthur said easily.

“I'll get you the information. Take care of yourself.”

“And you.”

After hanging up, Arthur sat under the tree a while longer, thinking about Eames. Mal had really done him a major favor in pulling him out of Eames’ office this morning. If Eames was suspicious in any way…well. Better to just assume Eames was suspicious and go in prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mais non - No  
> Mon ami - My friend (masc)  
> ce jeune imbécile - this young idiot  
> Mais bien sûr, petite - Of course, little one  
> Un touché, chéri - A touch, darling  
> Revanche - Retaliation, Revenge  
> C'est exactement ce que je veux - That is exactly what I want  
> le coquin - a rogue, a scoundrel  
> C’est vrai - It's true  
> piqûre arrogante - arrogant prick  
> Un voleur sans égal - A thief without equal  
> sans pareil - beyond compare  
> sortez, sortez - get out, leave


	6. Still Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes to sort things out with Mr Eames and, well, smut ensues.

**Still Saturday**

Arthur went back to his room and divested himself of all his weapons, except for a single knife in an ankle sheath. He dressed in a snug t-shirt and and a pair of thin sweatpants that hung a little low on his hips, making it obvious to a trained eye that he was not heavily armed, if at all. He could always say he was headed to the gym if questioned.

Then he took a deep breath and headed for Eames’ office.

The door was shut, so he knocked cautiously. “Mr Eames?”

Eames opened the door with a pleasant smile, taking in Arthur's clothing with a raised eyebrow and pausing to study the cut on his lip and the tiny plaster. His mouth quirked. “I'd have expected Nurse Tildy to make a much bigger fuss than that.”

Arthur gave him a rueful smile. “She did, but I begged her to leave it at this.”

“You must beg well,” Eames said with a smirk, stepping aside to let Arthur enter his office.

“I…suppose I was inspired?”

“I suppose you must have been.” The door clicked shut behind him.

Arthur was turning to look at Eames when he was shoved face-first into the wall, the cool muzzle of a gun touching the back of his head.

“Who sent you here?” Eames demanded quietly, right in his ear, sending a jolt of desire straight to his crotch.

“I think we might have a misunderstanding,” he said softly, slowly placing his hands flat and open on the wall to either side of his shoulders. “I'm not here for you.”

“You're not actually a teenager,” Eames said. “Your cover’s good, but you shouldn't try to con a con man.”

Eames was pressed to Arthur's back, a warm weight through their clothes, one hand holding the gun steady, the other lightly frisking him for weapons, his breath ghosting past Arthur's jaw and cheek, and Arthur cursed the fresh surge of entirely inappropriate arousal. It was immediately made worse when Eames brushed a hand across the front of his hips and paused on encountering Arthur’s unmistakable erection.

“Arthur,” Eames said slowly, drawing out his name. “That is an entirely inappropriate response to this situation.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “I'm aware of that,” he gritted, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing he was blushing.

Eames huffed a little laugh right in Arthur's ear, sending a full-body shudder through him, then backed away, the gun moving away as well. Arthur slowly turned around, hands still raised, to find Eames perched on the edge of his desk, gun resting against his leg. The semiautomatic, a lovely Walther, was still pointed at Arthur, but Eames’ finger lay along the slide, not tucked into the trigger guard.

Arthur lowered his hands slowly, keeping them in sight at his sides, resisting the urge to adjust himself.

Eames noted the aborted movement and smirked. “All right, Darling, let's have a little discussion, starting with you.”

Arthur sighed. “I'm in hiding while there's a contract out on my head.”

Eames raised an eyebrow. “That's less than informative.”

“You just said you were a con man,” Arthur said with mild exasperation. “Should I give you enough details that you can turn me in for the reward?”

Eames pursed those porn-worthy lips and Arthur felt his cock twitch again. “I'm sure Mal told you all she knows about me.”

“She did, yes. And I've heard more from other sources.”

Eames tilted his head. “You move fast.”

“You've got quite a reputation for untrustworthiness. I was warned you would try to exchange me.”

“Reputation can be a handy thing, or it can be a right pain in the arse. You're aware of my situation.”

“Fischer’s trap in the Vatican.”

“Just so. Are you worth enough to make a difference against that?”

Arthur hesitated. “Very likely.”

“God’s bollocks, Arthur, and you waltz in here unarmed? Are you completely round the bend?”

Arthur sighed. “I’m coming to think that's entirely possible.”

Eames let the gun down to rest along his thigh, shaking his head. “And why _did_ you come here, to my office?”

Arthur smiled at him, dimples and all. “To discuss an art project for your class, of course.”

Eames’ eyes narrowed. “Try again, pet.”

“Frankly, there's lots of things I'd like to try. But you haven't put the gun away yet.” Arthur shrugged at him innocently.

“Well, I don't know how vindictive you are, do I, petal? I did just slam you into a wall and put a gun to your head. Which, I'll admit, you took rather differently than I expected…”

“Dammit, Eames…” Arthur looked away, cursing the light blush he could feel.

“How old _are_ you, Arthur? And surely Darling is your cover name?”

“Of course it’s my cover name, and don't think there's not vengeance being plotted for that.”

“So Arthur is…”

He sighed. “My real first name. I suppose there was enough going on that he didn't want to worry about my not responding properly when addressed.” He quirked an eyebrow at Eames. “And I'm twenty-three. Seventeen isn't such an impossible stretch from there.”

“Well, from the advanced old age of thirty, seventeen looks pretty much like a child,” Eames said wryly.

“And have you been thinking impure thoughts about a child?”

Eames snorted. “No, I've been trying not to think impure thoughts about an assassin I might have to kill.”

Arthur shivered as a hot surge flooded him and made his cock twitch again, and Eames looked at him with an almost awed amusement. “Bloody hell Arthur, you are a bit skew-whiff, aren't you?”

“How the hell should I know?” Arthur demanded crossly. “All these damn colorful British expressions!”

Eames laughed and leaned back to tuck the gun away in a desk drawer behind him. “Poor little American lad. A bit twisted? On the kinky side? Cross-wired?”

“Yes, thank you, I managed from context.”

Eames pushed off the desk and moved to stand in front of Arthur, closer than was polite, and brought his hand up to gently peel the butterfly bandage off the cut on Arthur's lip. Arthur shuddered in anticipation, entirely hard, his eyes dilated fully as he stared at Eames. Eames leaned in, tilting his head a bit to touch the tip of his tongue to the cut, lightly stroking over it.

Arthur moaned, his mouth falling open a little.

“Arthur,” Eames whispered against his lip. “Kinky Arthur.” He brushed a feathery kiss against Arthur’s mouth. “Arthur who needs to say no right now.” He licked along Arthur's bottom lip.

“Yes,” Arthur breathed and Eames claimed his mouth, wrapping a hand behind Arthur’s head and holding Arthur’s hip cupped in the other.

Eames pulled away to breathe, his thumb pressing over the cut, making it throb a little. “This is not wise,” he said, low and husky. He pulled Arthur closer to him, nipping along his bottom lip. “You can't trust me, and I certainly don't trust you.”

Arthur frowned, trying to kick his brain back into gear. “I…there isn't anything you need to trust me for…”

“I have enemies, darling, who would love to know that I'm tied down somewhere predictable.” He pulled Arthur's hips into contact with his own, settling their cocks alongside each other, brushing back and forth ever so slightly. “You tell me you're not here for me, but how am I to believe you?”

“Nnnghh…Eames…stop. Stop.” Arthur pushed back, dropped into one of the chairs in front of the desk and pressed his palms to his forehead. “God. I can't think when you're touching me.”

“And don't think I'm not flattered by that, pet. I'm a little skeptical, admittedly, but definitely flattered.”

“It's a first for me,” Arthur growled. He set his elbows on his legs and let his hands dangle between his knees, looking up at Eames sideways.

Eames stepped back to lean on his desk again, crossing his arms, ignoring the erection that tented his trousers.

Arthur sighed. “I'm so tired of having to rely on gut instinct in all of this because I don't have proper intel.” He eased back in the chair, glancing ruefully down at his erect cock outlined in his sweatpants. “Mal knows I'm an operator of some sort,” he said, bringing his gaze to Eames, “but no other details.” Eames nodded. “Robert Fischer doesn't know that, but wants me to teach him how to survive a long game to take over the company from his father and godfather,” he continued. Eames blinked, then nodded again more slowly.

Arthur sighed again. “Which is kind of funny, because I was the lead on the team that went after Cobol on Monday in Mombasa, looking for evidence that they were working with Fischer-Morrow. Except we were betrayed by someone on the inside. We lost a couple agents, and now I've got a bigger price on my head than some countries have in annual budgets. Stop me if any of this begins to sound like a familiar pattern to you.”

Eames’ mouth hung open slightly. “You're _that_ Arthur? Sodding hell, you're just a pup!”

“Excuse me?” Arthur frowned.

Abruptly Eames frowned as well. “Who sent you here for cover? Your handler?”

“I trust him,” Arthur said firmly. “He wasn't the leak.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

Eames ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it and setting the cowlick askew. “Too many avenues of trust. Too many opportunities for betrayal,” he muttered.

“You don't have to remind me of that,” Arthur grumbled.

Eames glowered at him. “This is why I don't trust anyone.”

“Which is also why you didn't have anyone to watch your back at the Vatican,” Arthur said, letting his head fall back against the chair.

“If Maurice Fischer knew you were here…” Eames said quietly. “I would only have to slip him word and I could probably walk away and drop trou in the Vatican with no reprisals.”

Arthur snorted. “I haven't seen your ass naked yet, but if your clothes give any real hint, they'd probably commission a sculpture to commemorate it.”

Eames barked a startled laugh, covered his mouth, stared at Arthur, the obvious question in his eyes.

Arthur shrugged. “Don't ask, because I can't tell you exactly why. Gut instinct. Mind-numbing sexual attraction. Combat-related insanity. I don't know. I don't really care. For whatever reason or reasons, I trust you.” He let his eyes slip shut and pressed his palm down over his cock, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he rubbed slowly over the material of his sweatpants. “And holy fuck, I want you. I've been dreaming about you. I've had to jerk off before your class, just to make it through.”

He opened his eyes to see Eames lick his own lips, watching him. Arthur lowered his voice. “This morning…I haven't had a wet dream since I was fifteen, Eames.” He ran his thumb over the head of his cock, right where he was leaking a wet spot.

Eames made a strangled noise and stepped forward to drop to his knees between Arthur's legs. He put his hands on Arthur's thighs, pulling the material taut over Arthur's hips, the wet spot growing suddenly as Arthur exhaled raggedly. Eames leaned down to press his mouth to the wetness, sucking the material into his mouth right over Arthur's cock and tonguing over it and Arthur moaned, his hips lifting a bit.

The hands on his thighs anchored him to the chair as Eames mouthed his cock through the wet material.

“God, Eames! I can't…” Arthur pushed at the waistband of his pants, trying to shove them down, and Eames chuckled against him, lifting his gaze up to meet Arthur's eyes with a wicked sparkle.

“Oh, I really think you _can_ , pet.”

“No, really.” Arthur tried to push them down a little more frantically, and Eames took Arthur's hands in his and placed them on the arms of the chair.

“Arthur,” he said firmly.

Arthur went still, staring at him, practically vibrating with tension. His tongue darted out to flicker over his lips. “If you want me to stay still,” he said, enunciating carefully, “you're going to have to tie me up.”

Eames’ eyes went almost entirely dark. “Arthur,” he said, nearly reverent, then he closed his eyes for a moment. “No,” he said. “Not this time, anyway,” and pulled Arthur's sweatpants down to his thighs as Arthur lifted his hips to help.

Eames kissed the wet red crown gently, then let his lips part and roll down to envelope Arthur all the way to the root with one smooth motion. Arthur grunted incoherently and tangled his fingers in Eames’ hair, tugging a warning. Eames pulled back up, sucking all the way, then rolled the head in his mouth, tongue scouring at the underside.

“Eames, fuck, Eames, stop, I can't…”

Eames let him slip from his mouth to look up at him. “Arthur. I'm not going to stop.” And he pursed those lips and pushed all the way down again and Arthur shouted and came down his throat while Eames held his thighs hard enough to bruise.

Eames settled back on his heels to grin at Arthur as he curled up in the chair, flushed from his orgasm and yet still clearly blushing as well.

“Oh god, I'm like a teenager around you, what the fuck is wrong with me? Wet dreams and coming the second you put your mouth on me…”

“Darling,” Eames drawled, the smug bastard, “I do hope you're not planning to leave me hanging for very long.”

Arthur visibly twitched as he restrained himself from kicking at Eames. He took a slow breath in, held it, then exhaled for the same amount of time. “I'm clean, by the way,” he said, determinedly conversational as he sat straight and pulled his sweats back up. “I was tested a couple of months ago and haven't been with anyone since.”

“That I could have guessed on my own, pet,” Eames said with a wicked grin.

Arthur held still, closing his eyes, then the corners of his mouth curled up. He opened his eyes and stood, looking down at Eames where he was still kneeling. “And you? Can you give me a similar reassurance?”

Eames snorted. “Nurse Tildy gave me the works when I first arrived here and I certainly haven't had it off with anyone here.”

Arthur nodded, and curved his hand to fit along the side of Eames’ face, looking down at him intently.

Eames watched him, hands resting on his thighs, mouth a little red and swollen, a tiny smile tucking one corner up a little.

Arthur shifted his thumb to caress along Eames’ top lip, then pushed gently against the bottom one. The scarred eyebrow quirked up, but Eames made no other reaction. Arthur smiled down at him and applied enough pressure to open Eames’ mouth and push his thumb inside.

Eames’ eyes fluttered shut and he sucked lightly on Arthur's thumb, mouth curved up. When Arthur slid his thumb out, his eyes opened, lit with mischief.

“Yeah, I had you figured for a switch, darling. I suppose we're well matched then.”

Arthur slid his hand around to cup Eames’ chin, urging him gently to his feet. Eames managed it with an easy athletic grace, his hands tucking into the small of his back as he rose.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

“Sod off, petal. I'm as in shape as you.”

Arthur laughed, leaning in to kiss him with a proprietary manner, taking the lead and moving away slightly whenever Eames responded too assertively. His hands opened Eames’ trousers, taking his time, fingers brushing against Eames’ cock far too often to be incidental.

Eames groaned into Arthur's mouth between kisses. “…torture…Geneva…Convention…”

Arthur laughed softly, letting his hand rest against Eames’ bare cock while his other slid around to take hold of Eames’ wrists, holding them behind his back. “I don't recall a declaration of war, Mr Eames.” He sucked Eames’ lower lip into his mouth, holding it in his teeth for a moment with slowly increasing pressure, then let it go to kiss underneath Eames’ jaw, placing tiny bites down the line of his throat before setting his teeth in the muscle of his shoulder and biting down.

“…matter…of opinion…” Eames gasped as his body buckled forward against Arthur.

Arthur let the bite go, licking at the marks, working the tip of his tongue against the indentations. “I wouldn't call it _war_ ,” he said, pushing Eames back so that he bumped into the edge of his desk. “In the interests of precision,” he raised both hands to hold Eames’ face, thumbs playing with the full lips thoughtfully before leaning in to kiss him, holding Eames’ head still while he licked into his mouth, drawing another moan as Arthur rubbed his sweatpants against his bare cock, “it might be fair to consider it more of a competition.”

He flashed a quick smile at Eames before dropping down to kneel in front of him. “In fact,” he said, face close enough to Eames’ cock for him to feel Arthur’s hot breath as he spoke, “if you can last longer than, oh let's say, ten long breaths,” Arthur licked his lips and Eames twitched, “you'll have won.”

Eames inhaled raggedly. “Seven.”

Arthur looked up at him, one hand holding Eames’ hip, creasing the fabric of his trousers. Eames’ uncircumcised cock was obscenely naked, curving up and out of the fly of his boxers, wet head just peeking out of the foreskin. Arthur’s other hand was half inside the boxers, lifting Eames’ balls free and cupping them. He paused his movements, tilted his head in a considering fashion, then smiled slowly. “Eight.”

Eames laughed roughly. “Darling, I've already lasted longer than you. Do your best.” He settled his hands to either side of his hips and took a grip on the edge of his desk, grinning down at Arthur in challenge.

Arthur rolled Eames’ balls in his hand gently and chuckled. “Just for that…”

He opened his mouth and took just the crown in, ever so gently closing his teeth around the foreskin. Eames sucked in a breath and Arthur heard the wood of his desk creak as Eames squeezed it. Arthur used his teeth to delicately push back the foreskin as he leaned in, and Eames trembled in his mouth, leaking in spurts. Once the swollen head was fully exposed, he let go with his teeth and slid the flat of his tongue over the head, gathering up the fluid there. He lightly worked the shaft with one hand and tugged gently on Eames’s balls with the other.

As soon as Eames exhaled raggedly, his body beginning to tremble, Arthur sealed his mouth around the head and sucked hard, tongue working against the underside, his hand moving faster, with more friction. His other fingers brushed behind Eames’ balls, stroking over the puckered entrance, a fingertip teasing and tugging at the sensitive skin.

Eames’ body jerked, thrusting, and he let slip a harsh incoherent cry as Arthur opened his throat and let Eames push in, sucking hard.

Eames grabbed his head, tugging at Arthur's hair, and then he was coming helplessly as Arthur swallowed around him.

Arthur helped ease his descent to the floor where he lay panting while Arthur sat cross-legged, rubbing a hand in soothing circles over Eames’ stomach. Arthur’s head was ducked a little, turned to the side, but he knew Eames could see the edge of the smug smile tucking up the corner of his mouth.

“You think you won,” Eames rasped, lifting his head to glare at him.

Arthur made no verbal response, but the dimples deepened as he gently nestled Eames back into his underwear and trousers, doing up the fastenings with exaggerated care.

Eames let his head fall back with a thunk. “Fuck me, maybe you did.” His eyes closed.

“Don't go to sleep, Mr Eames,” Arthur said, trying to rein in his smug smile.

“I demand a rematch,” he grumbled.

Arthur snorted. “Is that what we're going to call it?”

Eames sighed and smiled, his eyes twinkling at Arthur when he opened them. “Oh darling, life just got interesting again. I owe you for that, if nothing else.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Screw your platitudes, you owe me because I won.”

He savored Eames’ laughter as a reward for not stripping the man down to his skin on the carpet.

“And what _do_ I owe you, petal?” Eames pushed himself up onto his elbows, giving Arthur an unselfconscious grin, all those slightly crooked teeth on display, and making Arthur long to kneel astride him and hold his mouth open and lick at those teeth. Eames glanced down at Arthur's lap, where the thin sweatpants were doing nothing to hide his renewed interest. “Well, I'm glad _one_ of us has a refractory period closer to a teenager.”

“And no gag reflex,” Arthur said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Eames groaned. “Take your smug face out of my office so I can get some work done.” He rolled over and up to his feet, holding a hand out to Arthur. Arthur took it and Eames pulled him to his feet with an easy strength that made Arthur's breath catch in his throat.

Eames smirked at that, thumb rubbing over Arthur’s hand as he held it and tugged Arthur closer. “I cannot _wait_ to hear the sounds you make when I sink into you,” he said softly.

Arthur swallowed, closing his eyes against the hunger in Eames’ face. “You’re going to make it difficult to concentrate on resolving our problems,” he whispered. He felt the touch of Eames’ mouth against his, fought to stay still under the brush of his lips as Eames murmured his name amid kisses.

“Arthur, Arthur, Arthur...I’m afraid we’re both going to have to take responsibility for that.”

A fresh surge of arousal rushed through him, breaking around a sharp spike of fear. This _thing_ he felt for Eames was so sudden and overwhelming, and he’d just put his life in the hands of a thief and forger he’d known for all of four days.

“Hey.” Eames drew back a little, cradled Arthur’s face in his hands. Arthur opened his eyes to find Eames looking almost as off balance as Arthur felt. “Second thoughts?”

Arthur huffed a bleakly amused laugh. “Had those right after I’d hung up on my handler earlier. Think I’m probably on fourteenth or fifteenth thoughts by now.”

“And you still waltzed in here, unarmed, and effectively handed me the keys to my own prison, with the only person to suffer for it an admitted spy and assassin I’d known for less than a week?”

He swallowed and stared at Eames, searching for a clue in that abruptly expressionless face, knowing his own vulnerability was showing clearly.

“Yeah,” he whispered through suddenly dry lips. He licked them and Eames’ eyes followed that movement.

“What the hell _are_ you, Arthur?” Eames breathed, and kissed him again as if he were drowning. Arthur wrapped his fingers in Eames’ shirt and held on, moaning into Eames’ mouth.

They both froze at a knock on the office door. “Locked,” Eames said almost soundlessly as he scowled at the door.

Arthur sighed at a telltale whisper outside and stepped back, straightening his shirt and gesturing for Eames to do the same for his clothing. “No need for a guardian pixie sprite,” he said loudly and ran his hands through his hair before stepping over to the door.

Eames gave him an bemused look. “What the hell is a guardian pixie sprite?”

Arthur opened the door to show Ariadne, hand lifted, about to knock again. “Et voilà (There you go).”

“Oh, hey, Arthur,” she said weakly as she looked from him to Eames. “Umm, I was just...” She looked between them again and blinked, a grin blooming and spreading. “...interrupting, apparently.”

“Yes,” Arthur said firmly.

“Okay, then,” and she turned and shouted down the corridor, “he’s _fine_ , Drake, you huge ginger weasel!”

“Suck my bollocks, pixie nips!” floated down the corridor. “And you settle down, short and curly, your jealousy is writing cheques your body can’t cover.”

“You leave him alone or I’ll sic Mal on you!” Ariadne hollered back.

Arthur looked at Eames, who was leaning on the edge of his desk again, his arms crossed and his eyes twinkling.

“Not every lad attends school accompanied by a comedy troupe, Arthur,” he said solemnly. “Or are they practicing for a school production and I just missed the announcement?”

Arthur sighed and walked over to Eames and, in full view of Ariadne, leaned in to give him a lingering kiss, ending it with a slow bite of Eames’ bottom lip. Eames responded with a low needy sound that made Ariadne squeak and scamper back down the hallway.

They smirked at each other and then Eames snorted. “We’ve still never talked about your art project, young man.”

Arthur tilted his head and then gave Eames a impish grin. “How about a photo essay?”

Eames raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “And your subject?”

Arthur’s grin widened. “St Berwick’s hidden nooks and crannies, of course. All those out-of-the-way corners that most people never notice, artfully photographed in black and white.”

“Thus giving you every excuse to wander about aimlessly with a camera, poking your lovely nose everywhere.”

“If we can discuss it in class briefly...”

Eames nodded and smiled at him, reaching out to stroke one of Arthur’s dimples with his thumb. “Clever Arthur,” he said softly. “Do you think you can find your way to my room tonight?”

Arthur’s breath hitched. “Hell yes.”

He moved his hand reluctantly. “Then you’d better go now, before your circus gathers their wherewithal.”

Arthur sighed. “My cover name is Darling, I’ve been dropped into the very nest of the enemy with no reliable intel, and the local team I managed to assemble is a little...green. There is no wherewithal in sight, Eames.”

Eames’ delighted laughter followed him out of the office and down the hall to where his small pack was huddled as Ariadne whispered fiercely.

“Oh! Hey, Arthur,” she said, spinning around wide-eyed and blushing.

Drake grinned at him wolfishly. “The GPS here was just telling us you’ve had your ashes successfully hauled. Well done you.”

“Yes. Thank you very much, Drake, for even more colorful expressions _that are quite clear from context_ _so no further elaboration is necessary_.” Drake closed his mouth to smirk at Arthur as he tried to scowl at him through his loose-limbed relaxation. Judging from Drake’s air of entertainment, he’d failed.

“Lunch,” he managed. “Everybody go to lunch. Or just go away. See you in the gym before dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Et voilà (There you go)


	7. Yes, It's Still Saturday, A Lot Of Stuff Happened Today, Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert Fischer joins the team, Arthur gets assigned an art project, and Eames gets late-night company.

**Still Still Saturday**

Robert Fischer was waiting at the gym, outside the room they generally used, though no one else was there yet when Arthur arrived. Arthur hung back and watched him for a bit. The heir to Fischer-Morrow was twitchy as all hell, though he managed several times to pause for a deep breath and stand still for a moment before being driven to pace again. He kept unconsciously adjusting his clothing, so it was easy for Arthur to figure what had him so anxious.

Arthur sympathized. As badly as he had it for Eames, it sucked even more to actually _be_ seventeen and deeply in lust with someone inappropriate.

“Are you going to be able to spar with him?” he asked bluntly as he came around the corner. Give him credit, Arthur thought, Fischer didn’t jump much.

“I...yes, of course.”

“It’d be better to be upfront with him. If nothing else, it’ll cut down on his teasing when you pop a boner as he pins you. Believe me, I speak from unhappy experience.”

Fischer coughed a surprised laugh and turned to lean his forehead against the wall. “Yes. Yes, that would probably be wise.”

Drake came in a moment later; Fischer was still leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Arthur indicated him with a tilt of his head and an eyebrow and Drake’s face took on an oddly gentle expression as he nodded and studied the young man.

Then he cleared his face and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Fischer,” he said, deep and even.

Arthur heard Fischer mutter “ _fuck_ ” into the wall before he straightened and turned around. “Drake,” he said. “Um...”

“Come here.” Drake’s voice remained deep and even as he issued the command.

Fischer blinked and frowned, his chin rising slightly in reaction. “Who the hell do you think...”

Drake dropped his voice even lower. “Robert. I didn’t delay the pipsqueak and her plus one just to have you faff about. Come. _Here_.”

Even Arthur felt a curl of response to that, and he didn’t blame Fischer one bit for biting his lip and then walking over to stand in front of Drake, trying not to tilt his head way back to look up at him. He only succeeded in making his eyes look even bigger with that move, Arthur thought with a little shake of his head.

Drake reached out and settled a hand at the back of Fischer’s neck and pulled him close, tilting Fischer’s head back to give him access to his mouth. Fischer’s hands came up to press against Drake’s chest, though Arthur could see there was no strength being applied to move away, and Drake leaned in to breathe against Fischer’s slightly opened lips. “Robert. Will this be easier for you if we have sex or we don’t?”

Fischer froze for a moment and then gave Drake an incredulous look. “You absolute fuckwit, I’m _seventeen_. What the hell do you _think_ my answer’s going to be?”

Drake grinned at him, sharp and predatory, and Fischer shoved away from him, glaring. “You don’t screw boys.”

Drake pulled him back over easily, and leaned down to brush their mouths together. “Are you a boy, then? You don’t seem that child-like to me.”

Fischer made a tiny noise against Drake’s mouth and then pushed away again, turning his back and wrapping his arms around himself. “Don’t toy with me,” he said quietly. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that.”

Drake stepped forward to rest his hands on Fischer’s shoulders from behind. “Never knew you were anything more than a pretty rich kid destined for power and influence ‘til you spoke up in Ms Miles’ office today. Didn’t know you had a thing for loser street toughs until then, either.”

“I didn’t think you were a loser until just now,” Fischer muttered, not turning around. Drake huffed a laugh against the back of Fischer’s neck and he shivered before he turned around. Fischer’s eyes were wide and starved. “I do want you. God, do you know how many times I’ve jerked off thinking about you? But I won’t be part of a game or some power play...”

“I’m not toying with you,” Drake interrupted.

“It’s a matter of trust!” Fischer snapped. “If my father or my godfather found out what I meant to do...”

“Hey, shhhh.” Drake wrapped around him, tucking Fischer into the curve of his arm and shoulder and talking softly into his hair. “Listen, Robert. You’re not alone in this any more. You’re not. You don’t have to be.”

Fischer shuddered as his hands gripped the back of Drake’s t-shirt. “I don’t...I’ve never...” he said, muffled against Drake’s shoulder. Drake hushed him and held him until his breathing slowed down. Fischer finally pulled in a deep steady breath and gently pushed away from Drake. “If we started this. This...” He took another deep breath. “It won’t be easy. My father’s not fond of me making...attachments. And he could send me away at a moment’s notice if he needed me somewhere else.”

“About that,” Arthur broke in smoothly. Both young men turned to look at him, a little startled. “If he’s going to start sending you out and about, surely you’d need a trustworthy bodyguard. And who better than a strong and already semi-skilled schoolmate who taught you some self-defense?”

Fischer gave him a look of revelation. “That could work. He’s been threatening to assign me bodyguards for months.”

“Bodyguards need training,” Drake said, glaring at Arthur.

“Yes,” he agreed with a grin. “And it’d be a good show for his father if Robert admitted he needed one, and took the initiative to do some research, and started bringing people in to train this classmate into a useful member of society. And of course you’d need to spend a lot of time together for Drake to learn about Fischer-Morrow and the needs of his charge.”

“I hate missing the good bits,” Ariadne said as she walked up, Yusuf following in her wake. “When did _this_ ,” she gestured between Drake and Fischer as they stood nearly touching, “get to be a thing that was happening?”

“The last good bits you saw sent you squeaking away down a corridor,” Arthur said dryly.

She scowled at him and Yusuf shrugged. “It wasn’t your most dignified moment,” he said to her.

“I was just surprised!”

Drake snorted. “If you were that surprised by two blokes kissing, wee imp, then your lad here is clearly not on the job.”

A defensive look flashed over Ariadne’s face. Arthur raised an eyebrow at Yusuf who frowned lightly before turning and sweeping Ariadne into his arms for a thorough kiss. She blinked at him after, blushing furiously.

“We move at our own pace,” Yusuf told Drake calmly and guided Ariadne into the room to start warming up.

Drake grinned widely after them. “I did not see that coming.” He gave Fischer a very gentle shove. “Go warm up with them. We’ll be right in.”

Arthur watched Drake watch Fischer walk away. “How long?” Arthur asked.

Drake waited until Fischer was out of line of sight before answering. “Almost two miserable sodding years. When I got sent here, he was so...beautiful and also the most self-assured kid in school. Always was until _you_ walked in last week. And I knew he was lonely, but what the fuck’re you supposed to do if you’re a jank hooligan and arse over tit for the poshest lad in school?”

“Not waste time,” Arthur said. “It’s a dangerous game he’s planning to play and it’s better that you’re planning to be there too, but...now that you know, don’t waste what opportunities you actually have.”

“A lot of the time, Arthur, you don’t sound seventeen.“

He paused in consideration. “It hasn’t been the easiest life,” he finally said. “But I don’t think that now is a good time to go into details.”

Drake gave him a sharp look. “But later, yeah?”

He spent a moment in thought, then nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow, after mass.” He flashed a grin at Drake. “Both you and I should be way too busy tonight.”

Drake return grin was wolfish. “So when’re you going to stop holding back when we spar?”

“You know, it’s heartening to see that you’re not afraid to look like a rag doll in front of Fischer.”

“Oi! There’s no way you’re _that_ much better!”

“Are you willing to lay a little wager on that?”

“...no.”

Arthur slapped him on the shoulder and pushed him into the room to join the others. “Not to make you self-conscious but have you noticed that you clean up your language considerably when you’re talking to Fischer?”

“Are you winding me up?”

Afterwards, they all split up to shower and change before meeting in the dining room for dinner. Robert shocked the rich kids’ table by walking over and sitting with Arthur and his pack.

Ariadne grinned at him but Yusuf looked nervous, as if Robert had personally pinned a target on his back.

“Hell of a declaration,” Drake commented as he made room for Fischer next to him.

“It’s really brave!” Ariadne announced enthusiastically. She turned to Yusuf, patting his arm. “And you’ll be even safer because they won’t want to piss off Robert.” She took a big bite of stew just as she looked at Yusuf and hastily swallowed. “ _Besides_ the fact that you’re able to defend yourself.”

Drake snorted. “Nice save, GPS.”

Robert elbowed Drake. “Why are you referring to Ariadne as a navigational aid?”

“The thought of that,” Drake groaned. “Can you imagine that perky voice chattering away whilst nagging you with directions? Fuck no. I’d set my ride on fire first.”

Yusuf calmly wrapped a hand over Ariadne’s mouth. “You know he does it to get a rise from you. Why let him?” He turned to Robert. “Arthur once referred to her as his guardian pixie sprite and Drake seems to have taken to it like mold to cheese, but he’s also essentially lazy, thus the reduction to initials.”

Drake grinned approvingly at Yusuf. “Well, that’s me told then.”

“Shame it never seems to take,” Yusuf said, stroking Ariadne’s mouth with his fingers as he removed his hand. She bit her lip and looked down at her plate.

Drake’s jaw dropped as he looked from Ariadne to Yusuf and back and then he hastily got up and took a big step back from the table as she turned a murderous glare on him. “You’re gonna pitch a wobbly if I congratulate your science boy for figuring it the fuck out, but well the fuck done, Yusuf.”

“Are you _scared_ of me?” Ariadne demanded. Her face split in a grin. “ _Yes!_ ” she exulted with a fistpump.

“Hey!” Drake scowled.

Arthur smiled at him. “Can’t take it back now.”

Drake made an exaggerated noise of dejection, but took his seat again.

Arthur glanced up at the high table and found Eames resting his chin on his hand and regarding him with a highly entertained expression. Arthur rolled his eyes at him and Eames grinned, gaze flicking from Robert to Drake to Ariadne to Yusuf and back to Arthur. Arthur shrugged with a faint smile and looked away, finding Ariadne staring at him with a smug grin.

“Guess we won’t plan anything for this evening,” she said, cheerfully lascivious.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re not planning on keeping Yusuf company while his roommate is out for the night?”

She blushed but lifted her chin.

Yusuf shrugged. “I’m sure we both have a lot of homework, so that would work.”

Ariadne’s jaw dropped as she turned in her seat to stare at him, only seeing the sparkle in his eyes too late. “You...you _prick!_ ”

“Only in your dreams, apparently,” Drake said with a smirk.

She growled as she threw her napkin down on the table and prepared to get up, presumably to go around and savage Drake, but Yusuf caught her hand and brought her fingertips to his mouth gently, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “I would miss a _chemistry_ exam for you,” he said softly. Ariadne melted.

Robert shook his head in wonder and stared at Arthur, his shoulder brushing Drake’s. Arthur could see their fingers entwined under the table. “What _are_ you, Arthur Darling?”

Yusuf, Drake, and Ariadne all chorused, “just call him Arthur,” and Robert laughed.

Arthur shrugged at him with a smile. “Magnet for weirdos, apparently.”

“Darling!” Eames’ voice rang out through the slowly clearing dining room at the end of dinner and Arthur and his pack all turned, along with most of the remaining students. Eames made his way through the crowd with a stern expression and Arthur waited for him with his arms crossed, absolutely playing up the bad boy image.

“Mr Eames?” he asked coolly when the art teacher was within conversational range.

“Darling, I’m not sure how they do things in America, but here, when an instructor has asked you for something, _repeatedly_ , we do expect an answer.” Without shouting, Eames was projecting clearly to the corners of the large dining hall and the students were hanging on every word. “I had rather hoped to do this in a civilized manner...”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “By all means, let’s remain civilized. If this is about the art project?” At Eames’ tight-lipped nod, Arthur shrugged. “I’m pretty good with a camera. Do you consider photography to be an art or do we have to go all old school for this?”

Eames bared his teeth. “Darling,” he drawled. “As much as it would please me to watch you struggle with oils or chisels, I’ll accept a photo essay from you. But no snapshots of your friends, mind. I want something thoughtful, something that will show a little work’s been put in.”

Arthur gave him a sullen look. “I’m brand new here, Mr Eames. Is it too much to ask for a suggestion?”

Eames tapped and rubbed his lush lips thoughtfully as he considered that and Arthur narrowed his eyes, privately promising later vengeance with his stare. “Let’s take two birds with one blow, Darling. You _are_ new here and so we should get you thoroughly familiar with the buildings and grounds. I want you to capture the essence of St Berwick’s with only pictures of the out-of-the-way bits. Dusty corners, cobwebby steps, abandoned gardens and the like.”

Arthur scowled. “Sounds like you just want me to get filthy.”

Eames beamed at him with an unholy glee. “I expect you’ll be able to put that vaunted American ingenuity to use.”

Arthur straightened. “You remember you guys _lost_ the last war with us.”

“Tch. So confrontational. It’s _art_ , Darling, relax,” and Eames patted him on the arm and strode off, whistling.

The rest of the students dispersed in whispering groups and Arthur was careful to keep a scowl on his face as he and his pack left, though he let it curve upward into a smile as they all stepped outside and Ariadne started giggling.

“Yon wee imp actually kept a straight face,” Drake snickered. “I’m that impressed.”

“It’s just,” she gasped as she leaned on Yusuf, “having seen them sucking face this morning and then _that_...” She lost it again, clutching at Yusuf’s sweater to stay upright while he patted at her.

Robert looked bewildered. “Having seen them _what?_ ”

Arthur sighed. “Mr Eames and I are having an inappropriate sexual relationship as of this morning,” he said evenly. “Which leaves Yusuf and Ariadne some privacy since he and I are roommates. Presumably you and Drake will end up in your room to ‘talk’ since you’re one of the privileged few to get a single.”

Robert and Ariadne both blushed, though Ariadne was also grinning at Arthur.

“Gonna be gone all night?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows.

“I’ll be back to shower before mass in the morning. Might want to have finished before then.”

She shrieked in gleeful embarrassment, yanked Yusuf down for a noisy kiss, then fled cackling.

“Ye gods and little fishes,” Drake said weakly. He took Yusuf by the face and deposited a kiss on the top of his curly-haired head. “With your shield or on it, mate. And better you than me.” Then he wrapped a hand around the nape of Robert’s neck and wandered off with him.

Yusuf sighed. “Life is certainly more complex with you around,” he said mildly.

“But not boring.” Arthur slung an arm around Yusuf’s shoulders as they walked to the dormitories.

“No. Not boring.”

Arthur grinned as he scaled the brick and stone wall in the darkness, dark clothes rendering him nearly invisible against the aged and weathered surface. Eames’ rooms were on the top floor, four stories up, and he’d been looking forward to this climb all afternoon and evening and not just because of the promise of sex.

He hung just below one of Eames’ windows, three points of contact secure, and reached up to tap very quietly on the glass. The window creaked open and then Eames was leaning on his folded arms on the windowsill and looking down at Arthur with a wry smile, his Walther loosely curled in one hand.

“I’m not sure why I expected you to knock at the door, darling. Foolish of me, I suppose.”

Arthur smiled back up at him, dimples flashing, and took hold of the windowsill to swing himself up and over, making it a smoothly lithe movement that Eames responded to with a low sound as he backed away to make room. Arthur fastened the window shut behind him, then fixed Eames with an intent stare as he advanced on him.

“Your mouth,” Arthur growled. “You fucking tease, playing with your mouth while you dressed me down in front of half the students in this school.”

Eames laughed, low and wicked. “Turnabout, pet. Watching you strut around in your snug little uniform trousers, always running your hands through that artful tousled mop, entirely useless though adorable glasses perched on your pert little nose...”

Arthur growled again and met Eames’ mouth in a fierce kiss, delighted that they were of a height. Eames returned the kiss enthusiastically, sliding one hand under the back of Arthur’s t-shirt to pull him closer and the other into the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his ass.

Eames broke away to pant, staring at Arthur hungrily. “I’ve condoms and lube. Who’s fucking whom first, darling?”

“Oh god, Eames, I’ve been half-hard all day trying not to think about what you said earlier.”

“About what you’d sound like when I worked you open on my fingers, made you all wet and ready for me, and then slowly pushed my cock so deep into you that you couldn’t remember how to breathe properly?”

“That’s...not how you said it...” Arthur couldn’t seem to remember for a moment how the buttons on Eames’ shirt worked and he tugged on the offending article of clothing in frustration. Eames chuckled and stepped back, attending to his own buttons.

Arthur, stripping off his t-shirt and sweats, paused to watch, licking his lips as dozens of tattoos were revealed. “How the hell do you make thug skin art so goddamn sexy?”

Eames, shirtless, pulled Arthur over and put Arthur’s hands on his chest. “Is this an example of your romantic talk?” he chuckled while he unfastened his trousers. “Because I’ll let you know it needs a little work.”

“If you still need wooing after the blow job I gave you earlier, then I probably should be hauling you off to Nurse Tildy to check for brain damage or something.” Arthur traced along the edges of ink from one design to another until he was rubbing his thumb over a nipple, prompting a breathy groan from Eames as he fought his trousers off and then took hold of Arthur’s face for another kiss.

Kissing Eames was a little like being drowned, Arthur thought hazily as Eames pressed his mouth open with his thumbs and then devoured his mouth, licking into him until Arthur was holding onto his shoulders for support and moaning, dizzy, breathing only when Eames did and letting him dive right back in. He didn’t know they were moving until he felt the bed against the backs of his legs and then Eames gently pushed him down to sit, staring down at him as he stood between Arthur’s knees. His lips were kiss-swollen and slightly open as he panted and Arthur wanted back in contact with him; he settled one hand around the curve of Eames’ hip and leaned in to lick and nibble at the smooth ridges of his stomach while he gently took Eames’ cock in the other hand.

The forger moaned as he shifted in the loose grasp, his head tipping back as his spine arched forward, and he tangled his fingers in Arthur’s tousled hair. “ _God_ , Arthur...”

Arthur made a little pleased noise against his skin, then pushed him back a step. “Condoms. Lube,” he said, sliding back on the bed to lay with his head on a pillow and wrap his hand around his own cock, one knee up and bent invitingly. “If you’ve forgotten where you stashed them,” he said with a smirk as Eames dithered momentarily, “check the pocket of my sweatpants.”

Eames blinked at him and then a delighted grin blossomed. “Of course you showed up with supplies. But not to worry,” and he snatched at a drawer, triumphantly lifting packets of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“Full marks for preparedness, Mr Eames, now get the hell _over_ here.”

Eames dropped the supplies onto the bed and crawled up it to lay alongside Arthur, his hand petting Arthur’s stomach and wandering lower as he leaned in for another devouring kiss.

Arthur made a pleading noise against Eames’ mouth as his hand brushed Arthur’s cock, and he turned on his side to face Eames, his arms wrapping around Eames’ neck as he arched to press their bodies together.

“In me,” he whispered, his leg lifting to hook over Eames’ waist, exposing himself to Eames’ wandering touch.

Eames growled against his mouth and fumbled about for the lube, finally stroking a slick finger along the tender skin from tailbone to testicles, making Arthur shiver and moan into Eames’ throat. “C’mon, Eames, c’mon, want you _in_ me.”

“So impatient.” Arthur felt the curve of Eames’ smile against his skin as he spiraled in around Arthur’s hole, finally teasing his fingertip against the quiver of the sensitive skin there.

“ _Eames_.” Arthur rubbed their hips together, sliding their cocks against each other and drawing a gasped laugh from Eames. Then he was working his finger in and Arthur exhaled hard, relaxing under the pressure and kissing along Eames’ throat and shoulder. “More,” he whispered.

Eames slid two fingers in with ease as Arthur writhed against him and then he was nudging Arthur to lay on his back again, pushing himself up onto one elbow beside him to watch where his fingers were disappearing into Arthur. Arthur reached up over his head to hold onto the wooden headboard and spread his thighs, his cock twitching every time Eames brushed his prostate, biting his lip to stifle the undignified noises that kept wanting to escape.

“None of that, pet,” Eames said, leaning down to bite lightly at a nipple. Arthur grunted and sucked in a hasty breath. Eames ran his tongue over the smarting nub to soothe it. “I want to hear you, Arthur.”

He curled his fingers to press _just so_ and Arthur arched off the bed with a soft cry. Eames slipped a third finger in and Arthur found himself panting Eames’ name over and over, not wanting to beg, but knowing there was little difference between that and the noises he was already making.

“ _Christ_ , Arthur,” Eames said, sounding awed. “Can you come just on my fingers?”

Arthur shook his head frantically. “Don’t want to. Want you in me.” In spite of that, he let out a little protesting noise as Eames slid his fingers free and reached for a condom. Arthur’s fingers twitched on the headboard and his hips shifted on the bed as Eames knelt between his legs, rolling the condom on.

Eames paused, looking up and down the slim length of Arthur, and he shook his head slowly, almost reverently. “Look at you,” he said softly. “Wet and open, waiting for me. Are you always this eager, darling?”

Arthur huffed a wry laugh, surprised at his own impulse to honesty. He bent his knees up and set his feet flat on the bed to either side of Eames’ knees. “Been a long time since I wanted anyone this badly, Eames.”

The forger stared at him for a moment, blank and expressionless again, but this time Arthur recognized it as a cover for uncertainty. Arthur lifted his legs and wrapped them around Eames, pulling him down onto him. Only when Eames was braced over him, supporting himself on his hands, did Arthur let go of the headboard and cup Eames’ face.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Talk to me. Tell me where you’re hung up and we’ll work it out.”

Eames gave him a slightly demented laugh and glanced down between their bodies. “You want to _talk?_ Right _now?_ ”

“Not really, you fucking insane person. I really want you in me, but here we are with you hesitating and I’d prefer for us both to be...”

Eames shifted to put a hand over Arthur’s mouth until Arthur nodded at him and he moved it. “I’ve been on my own for a long time, petal, and sex isn’t usually this...unguarded. You terrify me, frankly.”

“We’re not really talking about the sex, Eames.” Arthur rubbed his own face and forced himself to relax under the partial weight of Eames’ body. “Do you believe I’m being honest with you?”

_“Yes_ ,” Eames scowled. “That’s part of the problem.”

Arthur considered him. “I’m not demanding the same honesty in return.”

Eames’ scowl deepened. “There’s another part. Why not?”

“Because I’m already trusting you with my life. And my body.” He tightened his legs around Eames’ waist and rubbed their crotches together, smiling at the needy inhale that resulted. “Anything else can wait.”

Eames lowered his head until their foreheads touched. “What the hell are you, Arthur?”

“Jesus, why is everyone asking that?”

Eames laughed shakily. “You are unique in my experience, and that’s fairly extensive, darling.”

“Can we turn your fairly extensive experience back to sex now?”

Eames laughed again and dropped his mouth to brush Arthur’s with a light kiss. Arthur wrapped his hand behind Eames’ neck and held him while he turned it fiercer, more demanding.

“Eames,” he growled. “Fuck. Me. _Now_.”

With an incoherent noise, the forger pushed back up and positioned himself, staring at Arthur as he pushed past his entrance, then all the way in on one slow stroke.

Arthur’s head fell back against the pillow and he let slip a low moan. “Oh god, so good, Eames, fuck, that’s so good...”

Eames set up a relentless rhythm, pushing into Arthur with casual force and gradually increasing his speed. “I know you could’ve come on my fingers, pet,” he grunted. “Think you might come on my cock?”

Arthur panted as he rocked against Eames’ body, pushing his hands back overhead to hold himself away from the headboard as Eames’ thrusts threatened to shove him up the bed. Eames was hitting his prostate continuously and his cock was pulsing with pre-come and he felt the coil of orgasm tightening in his belly and balls.

Despite his words, Eames reached between them and lightly circled his fingers around Arthur’s erection. Arthur cried out and tried to thrust against the friction until Eames started moving his hand in rhythm with his hips and Arthur groaned in relief, clutching his legs tightly around Eames.

“Need you to come, darling, need you to come first,” Eames breathed raggedly as he thrust. “Need to feel you around me.”

“Eames, Eames, _Eames_.” And then Arthur gasped as he clenched around Eames and came, the world whiting out as he shuddered under him, spilling over Eames’ hand and his stomach, feeling Eames’ cock jerk deep in him as Eames came right after, his rough cry echoing in Arthur’s ears as Arthur gasped for breath.

It took Eames a moment before he was able to slide gently out of Arthur and collapse to the side of him, stripping the condom off and tying it, then dropping it off the side of the bed. Arthur followed him over to press his face into Eames’ shoulder and throat, letting his breathing slow and the sweat cool on his skin. He wanted to clean himself off, but Eames held him loosely and Arthur could feel Eames’ heart rate slowing in the pulse point under Arthur’s mouth.

Neither of them spoke, but it was a comfortable silence, full of gentle touches and light caresses, and Arthur eventually fell asleep tucked against Eames’ side.


	8. Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Eames continue to get along quite well, thank you very much; Yusuf basks; Ariadne blushes and threatens violence; Arthur updates Dom, chats with Mal, and forms the beginnings of a plan.

**Sunday**

Arthur startled awake in the middle of the night when Eames slipped out of bed. He took a deep breath to settle his racing pulse and Eames chuckled. “We’re sticky and disgusting, love, and in desperate need of a flannel. Be right back.”

“Eames.” Arthur rolled out of the bed and padded after him into the bathroom. Eames leaned back against the sink with a washcloth in hand and raised an eyebrow.

Arthur gave him an appreciative down and up look before glancing around the bathroom with a smile. “I’ve always hated sharing a bathroom with a bunch of people. Teenage boys are disgusting, even in the military.” He stepped past Eames to turn on the shower and shivered when Eames’ hands slid around his waist and the forger pressed himself along Arthur’s back.

“Are you achy, darling?” he breathed in Arthur’s ear, nestling his thickening cock against Arthur’s backside.

Arthur snorted and let his head tip back. “I’ll let you know when the adrenaline of waking up in a strange bed with someone dangerous has worn off.”

He felt Eames’ grin on his skin and shoved down the now-familiar flash of panic that he was entirely in this man’s hands and turned his head for a kiss. They both broke away when Eames’ hand skimmed over the flaking mess on Arthur’s stomach.

“Shower,” they both said at the same time and laughed.

Under the water, Arthur pressed Eames back against the wall and sucked a bruise under his collarbone while Eames made the most incredible low rough sounds in his throat.

“You want to have me,” Eames rumbled, amused, as Arthur pulled him back under the spray and his hand wandered down Eames’ back.

“Yes,” Arthur said into his wet skin as he caressed the muscular slope of Eames’ backside and then brought his hand around and cupped Eames’ balls. “I want to fuck you into your bed until you can’t remember words.”

“That’s a tall order,” Eames smirked. “I’m so rarely at a loss for words.” Arthur snorted and shut off the water.

They dried each other off, arousal and anticipation turning it into an absurd wrestling competition that ended with Eames face-down on his bed, arm folded up and held behind him while Arthur straddled his hips, meticulously drying the small of Eames’ back. 

Eames huffed laughter into his blankets as he struggled erratically. “You are the most ridiculous prat I have ever had in my bed!”

“Ah, but am I the most ridiculous prat who’s ever had you in your bed?”

“Yes!”

“Eames. I’m a little concerned about the number of prats you’ve had relations with. Do you need an intervention?”

“I’ll show you an intervention!” Eames was laughing hard enough that his efforts to get free barely stirred Arthur from his position.

Arthur tossed the towel aside and reached for the lube, keeping Eames pinned.

“Arthur, you bollocksy bastard! You’re taking advantage!”

Arthur leaned down to put his mouth by Eames’ ear. “Yes.”

Eames stilled, then laughed softly, his hips shifting against the bed. “You think you have me securely?”

Arthur grinned and dropped a quick kiss on the back of Eames’ shoulder before he shifted to a better hold. “I can pin you or I can fuck you. Now, I know which _I’d_ prefer...”

Eames relaxed with a sigh. “One of these days we should spar.”

Arthur snorted. “It’ll have to be a private locked room somewhere.”

“Well, yes...”

Arthur paused. “Would it be so out of character for an art instructor to have hand to hand skills?”

Eames turned his head to look at him, then turned over under him when Arthur let go. “You want me to join your little self-defense club?”

“I object to the description, but yes. I’d like to get Drake as much training as I can quickly, if he’s really going to be useful to Fischer and...”

“Your Company. And your longer term goals of Cobol and Fischer-Morrow.”

Arthur studied him. “It hasn’t been a bad outfit to work with.”

“I don’t play well with others, especially in large organized groups,” Eames said with a twist of those glorious lips. “Too many opportunities for betrayal.”

Arthur ducked his head. “Yeah. I understand that.”

“But you’re not going to leave your current job undone.” Eames reached up to brush his fingers over Arthur’s cheekbone.

“No. I took the job, I’ll finish it.”

“Even though someone in your Company betrayed you.”

Arthur shrugged. “Wasn’t the client. I don’t leave things unfinished when I have a choice.”

Eames stared up at him, expressionless again even as his fingers stroked lightly at Arthur’s bottom lip, his other hand resting on Arthur’s thigh. “Robert Fischer’s not your client.”

“No. But he’s a pretty good kid and he could become a decent man with a little support.”

“A decent man in charge of one of the most powerful corporations in the world?”

Arthur flashed him a quick smile. “There are worse odds.”

Eames pressed his thumb into one of Arthur’s dimples, and Arthur wrinkled his nose and turned his head to kiss at the offending digit. Eames gave him a faint smile in return, the blankness gradually leaving his face. “I think you need to fuck me now.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Eames froze, then his chin lifted. “I’m not some project like young Fischer.”

“No. And you’re not some stray I’m trying to take in, either.”

“Too bloody right.”

Arthur grinned down at him. “You’re more like a tiger in a trap. I want to free you but I don’t want to get savaged in the process.”

Eames snorted and touched the mark under his own collarbone. “Who’s the one getting mauled, again?”

“You’re whining over _that_ little thing? You’re going to be pitiful after I finish with you.”

“All mouth and no trousers, love.”

“So, in context, that particular colorful expression probably means you think I can’t follow up on my threats.”

Eames laughed, shaking Arthur who was still astride him. “Arthur, darling, will you please stick your prick in me and waggle yourself about in a pleasing fashion?”

Arthur blinked at him. “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Eames, your romantic talk needs some work.”

Eames pulled him down to kiss him, then picked up the lube and firmly placed it in Arthur’s hand before shoving him off and turning over to lay on his stomach. He raised a pointed eyebrow at Arthur, who grinned and poured some lube over his fingers, stroking them lightly down the valley between Eames’ ass cheeks. Eames exhaled and parted his legs even further as Arthur’s fingertips teased over his hole, making room for Arthur to kneel between them.

Arthur caressed his backside and thighs with his clean hand while he insinuated first one finger into him, then a second. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, Eames.”

The forger took a shaky breath and lowered his face into a pillow.

“Eames.”

“I heard you,” came the muffled reply.

Arthur grinned down at him. “My god, Eames, are you being bashful?”

Eames lifted his head with a glare. “Do I look like Bambi to you?”

“Your grasp of American pop culture is hilarious. And anyway, it was Flower the skunk who was bashful.” Arthur twisted his fingers, taking great care to brush Eames’ prostate ever so lightly and was rewarded by a low needy sound. He pulled out and pushed three fingers in this time, stroking the soft silky surface inside as he curled his fingers about. "And I really don't think we should be discussing Disney movies right now."

Eames half-moaned a laugh and squirmed against the bed when Arthur pulled his fingers out, then Arthur urged him up by the hips to his hands and knees and stroked his thumbs over Eames’ entrance, smiling at the twitch and release of muscular tension. Eames' shaky inhale had him quickly rolling on a condom and holding his cock steady to push into the slick heat.

“God!” he gasped as Eames clenched and relaxed around him, pushing back to sink Arthur deeper into himself.

“Don’t be so bloody precious, Arthur,” Eames growled. “I’m not a delicate...” He broke off in a grunt and then moaned as Arthur shoved in, gripping his hips hard, and then drew almost all the way out and slammed back in.

“Better?” Arthur breathed as he thrust.

Eames nodded, his exhalations falling into the same rhythm, his inhaled breaths fast and rough. “God, yes, Arthur, just...like...that...”

Arthur slid his hands down Eames’ thighs and pulled them wider, snugging his hips back into Arthur’s, then put a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed his shoulders down, leaning on his hand and holding him there, ass up and spread wide, while he jabbed as deeply as he could.

Eames moaned, sound fading to hissing whispers of “yes, yes, yes, _yes_ ” as Arthur sped his pace.

He wanted to hold out until Eames came but as Arthur plunged in over and over, the low desperate sounds forced from Eames’ throat drove him into a new urgency, and he gripped Eames’ hips and cursed as he buried himself, cock spasming and jerking.

As soon as he could he pulled out and disposed of the condom before flipping Eames onto his back, shoving his legs apart and dropping down to suck Eames’ cock into his mouth. He shoved three fingers back into him and curled them to stroke his prostate and Eames arched into his mouth and climaxed with a ragged shout, fingers twisted in Arthur’s hair.

They lay tangled together in the thoroughly rumpled bed, spent and sated, warm breaths against skin, smelling of sweat and sex and each other.

“I should go,” Arthur eventually murmured, reluctant, rubbing his cheek against the soft skin inside Eames’ hip.

Eames sighed, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “You should.”

“I don’t want to,” he admitted softly.

Eames said nothing, but his fingers tightened in Arthur’s hair, then released.

Arthur lifted his head to look at him, but found no words to say what he wanted. Instead he kissed the top of Eames’ thigh where it curved into his hip and pushed himself up out of bed to find his clothing.

“Arthur,” Eames rumbled, sleepy and splayed across his bed. “Use the door, petal.”

Arthur’s mouth quirked. “Yeah,” he agreed, and slipped out into the dark corridor, drifting like a ghost, or an assassin, through the silent hallways and across the grounds to his own dorm.

He opened the door cautiously but found only Yusuf sprawled asleep across his bed, on top of the covers and clad only in his boxers. Love-bites dotted his neck and shoulders and Arthur grinned as he set his alarm. He had about an hour before he had to get up for Mass and he needed at least a nap.

When his alarm went off, he groaned quietly, hearing it echoed from across the room. “When did Ariadne leave?” Arthur asked, stretching gently, achy for the best possible reasons but achy nonetheless.

“Nnnnnnnnnngh,” Yusuf replied.

“Did you at least have a good time?”

“Mmmmmhnnhnnhnnhnn.”

“Is that your dirty laugh?”

“Hnnhnnhnn.”

“You’ve got love-bites everywhere.”

“Hmm?”

Arthur threw a pillow at him and took himself to the bathroom to shower. Under the spray, he spent a moment to remember Eames’ hands on him and had to stop before his erection progressed too far.

Back in their room, Yusuf was admiring his marks in the mirror.

“You look like you were attacked,” Arthur said with a smirk, slipping his robe off to dress.

“You’re hardly one to talk.” Yusuf gestured at Arthur, down and up, with his eyes wide.

Arthur glanced down at himself and smiled. Eames had left bruises on the shape of fingers all over his hips and backside, love-bites dotted here and there, and swaths of lightly pink stubble-burn in highly telltale places. “It was a good night,” he said easily, looking back up at Yusuf.

Yusuf blushed. “Ariadne and I, we did not go _that_ far.”

“And there’s no rush,” Arthur agreed. “Take your time and enjoy the process of discovery.”

“We, umm...yes. Will you be spending other nights...out?”

“It’s very likely.” Arthur gave him a grave nod but he knew his eyes were dancing from the embarrassed scowl Yusuf gave him. “Go get ready for Mass, lover-boy.”

At Mass, Eames took a seat well off to the side of Arthur and Arthur had to admit the wisdom of it; it meant neither of them were in the other’s direct line of sight without staring sideways.

As Mass ended and people started filing out, they shared one heated glance and then Eames was making his way casually out a different exit and Arthur didn’t blame him in the least. Clearly, they needed a little distance at the moment.

Ariadne’s blush when Arthur first caught sight of her at breakfast was everything he could ever have hoped for, though. It started at her cheekbones and rapidly flushed her entire face and down into her blouse.

“I _hate_ you,” she hissed at him.

“I didn’t even say a word,” he protested, holding his hands up and keeping the grin off his face.

“You didn’t _have_ to. We had a good night, thank you so very much, now shut up!”

“Still haven’t said anything.”

“I will punch the _shit_ out of Drake if he says anything!”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Drake over Ariadne’s shoulder. Drake closed his mouth and grinned unrepentantly but hid it and shrugged at Ariadne when she spun around.

“I had a _very_ good night, thanks for asking, GPS,” he said with a very solemn face.

She gave Drake a narrow-eyed glare until Yusuf walked up with a frown and then she turned and wrapped around him and buried her face in his shoulder. “They’re being mean,” she complained into his sweater.

Yusuf patted her back and he and Drake exchanged a look and smirks, and then both sorted out their faces as Ariadne raised her head when Robert approached. She gave him a shy smile which Robert returned. He and Drake didn’t touch but they stood closer together than might otherwise be considered polite conversational distance.

Arthur nodded to him and raised an eyebrow, at which Robert blushed faintly, but didn’t look away.

“Marc and I talked it over last night,” he said quietly, “and we think the bodyguard idea will work. Did you have any suggestions for people to bring in?”

Arthur nodded. “I’ve a few people I can reach out to right after breakfast.”

Robert nodded back. “We’re not asking, but we also hope you’ll take us further into your confidence. If you are in a difficult situation, I might be able to assist.”

Arthur regarded him for a long moment and then smiled slightly. “My situation is currently under control, but I appreciate the offer. I _will_ do everything I can to help you and Drake, and frankly that’s a lot right now.”

Robert nodded again and gave him an uncertain smile. “I can’t tell you why I believe you, but I do.”

Arthur shrugged, his smile turning wry. “There’s a whole lot of ‘having to go on trust’ going on right now.”

“And yet I do trust you,” Robert said with a shrug. “But if it’s all right with you, I’m _not_ going to bring you to the attention of my father. He likes to look into the background of all the people I spend any significant time with.”

Arthur made a fast gut decision, hating the necessity, but acknowledging the need. “My background won’t stand more than a cursory search.”

Robert smiled wryly himself. “Yes, we noticed the lack of information last night when I ran a general internet search.” Arthur straightened, his face going expressionless, but Robert held his hands up. “It was just a Google search looking for police records. I didn’t have any details other than your name, after all. But there just isn’t anything definite there. Not a flag if you’re unremarkable, but Arthur, you are so far from unremarkable...”

“Flattery,” Arthur said dryly.

“Breakfast,” Yusuf said plaintively. “Can we stop exchanging mysterious statements and sit down and eat, please?”

“Seconded,” Ariadne said, but her frown of concentration as she stared at Arthur said her attention was elsewhere.

Arthur sighed. “Not that we’re a democracy, but yes, let’s table all further discussion until after breakfast. Yusuf, go ahead - we don’t want to get between you and the buffet.”

“Sod off,” Yusuf said cheerfully as he steered Ariadne with him toward the food.

Arthur wandered outside after breakfast and sat under a tree, holding his cell phone in his hand as he gazed at the building where the instructors’ room were.

He dialed before he started to replay the night he’d spent with Eames.

“Arthur?”

“Who else, Dom?”

“I don’t know. You’re so far off protocol that I figured you might’ve traded your phone for drugs or sex or something.”

Arthur couldn’t help the reminiscent grin. “I don’t have any desire for drugs and Eames doesn’t have any need for my phone.”

“Arthur! Fucking _hell!_ With Eames? After I warned you?”

“Listen, Dom, there’s other things we have to talk about.” Don’s reply was a frustrated groan and Arthur chuckled. “Robert Fisher is taking on Marcus Drake as a bodyguard-in-training, as well as sleeping with him. I’ve promised to provide people to start that training properly, so Robert can impress his father with his willingness and attention to detail.”

There was a long considering silence and then a pleased noise. “Huh. So you’ve created a way for us to insert more people in the school, as guests of Robert Fischer. Nice work.”

“With the understanding that his father will probably do at least a surface check, so you need to be prepared for that. And on that note, Robert ran a cursory Google search on me last night and came up with nothing significant.”

“It was a last-minute cover and I expected you to keep your head down!”

“It was sloppy work and I expect that to be remedied before his father starts looking into his friends.”

Dom groaned again. “Why did you have to make yourself such a target? We could really use you on this end.”

“No progress, huh?”

“Dead ends. A suspicious lack of trails. We do think it was just one person, though. But we’re having trouble tracking down the details.”

“Hmm. Do you have people ready to come in tomorrow?”

Dom chuckled. “I’ll be there myself.”

“Just can’t stay away?”

“Arthur, you’ve got yourself the most tangled nest of potential vipers I’ve ever witnessed. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Arthur went back to his room after the call, but as he was about to open the door, he heard Ariadne’s high-pitched giggle and rolled his eyes. Instead, he spent the next couple of hours wandering around St Berwick’s with his cell phone camera, taking random pictures of cracked stone walls and the worn edges of stairs, scowling for the benefit of the occasional passerby.

He came upon Mal sitting on a bench in the kitchen garden, smoking furiously and doing a fair amount of scowling herself at the middle distance. When he paused by her, she gestured to the bench next to her with her cigarette, never looking at him. He took the seat indicated and leaned back against the sun-warmed wall behind him, watching the leaves of the various herb plants dance in the sunlight as Mal aggressively smoked two cigarettes in silence and started a third. Eventually, she sighed and spoke.

“I met and fell in love with an American agent who called himself Paul. It was not, of course, his true name, but I was younger and very much head over heels and what is a name, anyway?”

Arthur made a noncommittal noise as she took a savage drag on her cigarette, burning it nearly down to the filter. She pulled out a fourth and lit it from the stub of the third.

“He it was who helped place me at Fischer-Morrow, supporting, as he did, my other love, chemistry. And it was there that I became involved in a very special project. Have you heard of dreamsharing, Arthur?”

“Rumors. Gossip. It sounds...beyond fantastical. Impossible.”

A slow, almost sexual, smile curved her lips. “It is not.” She sighed. “But it is not yet practical. The various militaries have been butchering their soldiers trying to make it work, but theirs is such a ham-handed approach...” She took a long inhale on her cigarette. “It requires a delicate chemical touch, and a certain type of mindset to orient yourself and make use of the dream. The possibilities are almost limitless,” she said softly, focused on some internal image. Then she shook herself a little. “But it is not ready yet, and my research holds the main missing piece.”

“But you won’t give that to Fischer-Morrow.”

“No! The uses they wish to put it to are...heinous. Stripping helpless confused minds of all useful secrets and leaving them empty comatose husks, lacking soul and self. It is one thing to share dream communication, but to rip out all that makes up a person in search of information...” She shook her head. “Paul found out I was withholding the data and reported me to Maurice Fischer. I was a fool to think I was anything other than a tool for his advancement, something to help him become indispensable to Fischer. I was a fool to believe that he truly felt anything for me.” Her mouth took on a bitter twist and she looked down at her hands, absent-mindedly tapping the ash from her cigarette. “He comes here occasionally, usually accompanying Maurice on his tours of his personal zoo. Each time, he tries to persuade me, to taunt me with a return to my research if I will just see reason.”

Arthur reached out and took her hand in his. “You know that I might be able to help. I will do my best, Mal.”

“I believe that you will try.” She gave him a cool smile, back in command of herself. “He has sent me a message; he will be here on Wednesday, which means Maurice Fischer will also be here.”

“Then we have a lot to do tomorrow and Tuesday.”

She looked at him curiously. “You have a plan.”

He flashed his dimples. “I always have a plan.”


	9. Still Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes into battle armed with some very specialized knowledge, discovers the identity of the traitor, and calls Dom. Then he goes to talk to Eames. No, really, they do talk. As well as 'talk.'

**Still Sunday**

Arthur left Mal smoking thoughtfully in the kitchen garden and went to Robert Fischer’s room, but as he turned down the last corridor, he found his way blocked by the main four of Richardson’s cronies.

“Not your territory, _Darling_ ,” the biggest one sneered.

Arthur tilted his head, studying them. “You lot really _don’t_ learn very quickly, do you?”

The one who’d spoken looked eager. “You going to try something?”

Arthur smiled at him with a great deal of pity not unmixed with contempt. “Not as long as your friend behind me there has a camera out, no.”

The look of disappointment the goons exchanged was almost comical.

He sighed, feeling the twisted desire to teach these idiots how to properly sneak about and ambush someone. “You realize that I’m just going to walk away and talk to Fischer later, right? That I’m not actually going to _lose_ anything by not engaging with you right now? No dignity or face or street cred...”

The young men looked baffled.

“Listen,” he said almost kindly. “If I turn and walk away, what will happen?”

After a longish pause where Arthur could _see_ them trying to work out the right answer, one of them said, uncertainly, “We’d know you were a gormless twat?”

“And then?” There was another silence and Arthur sighed again. “I don’t want to be part of your group and I don’t need anything from you, so why should I care what you think of me? Besides, you already didn’t like me, so what would change?”

One of them got offended. “Are you saying we’re irrelevant?”

“Within your sphere of influence, absolutely not.“

There was another pause, but a thoughtful one this time. “You’re saying we don’t have exclusive control here,” said the first, frowning.

“Right!” Arthur said. “Predominant, but not exclusive. And you’re used to your secondaries resisting subordination, and your techniques work just fine for that, at least in the short term.”

The goon nodded. “I’ve been trying to tell Richardson we should be using more of a soft power model than a straight dictatorship, but he doesn’t follow colonial and military history very closely.”

Arthur gave him a sympathetic shrug.

“Hold on,” said the fourth. “Are you saying we’ve mistaken the entrance of a rival power for a local uprising?”

Arthur beamed at him. “Exactly!”

The goons exchanged relieved looks. “That makes so much more bloody _sense_ ,” said the first, and the others all murmured agreement. “Then we should be working out articles of agreement and separation of influence, not trying damp down a rebellion.”

“Is your current leader going to agree with your conclusion?” Arthur gestured behind them to where Robert, Richardson, and Drake were standing in Robert’s doorway. A grinning Drake was holding Richardson with a hand over his mouth and Robert was just closing his mouth from where it had been hanging open. “Stand down, Drake, we’re in the process of an agreement here.”

“Just as you say, mate.” Drake let Richardson go and gave him a little push towards his cronies.

“This is a mutiny!” Richardson shouted, stomping towards the four, who exchanged eyerolls.

“For a chap who avoids military theory, you sure spout it a lot,” said one.

“Yeah,” said another. “Or at least a superficial veneer of it. You know we prefer other theories of group dynamics.”

“Social identity theory,” said a third.

“Social exchange theory,” said the fourth.

“What?” said the third. “We band together for a sense of identity and self-esteem based on our group membership, not some la-di-da expectation of mutually beneficial exchanges of trust and obligation!”

The second frowned at both of them. “None of which necessarily exclude a military framework since we’re really discussing group formation, which everyone knows happens by association through common activities or interests.”

“Well sure,” said the third sarcastically. “If you’re going by the _classic_ group dynamics model, which you _can_ , I guess, if you don’t subscribe to a more accurate approximation.”

“Lads!” The first raised his voice. “You’re missing the point. By the look on his face, Richardson’s about to drop us out of the norming stage back down into the storming stage. Pay attention!”

“No, wait,” asserted the fourth. “This is _important_. Are we a command group or a reference group?”

There was silence for a moment before Richardson shouted, “It doesn’t matter! I’m in command here!”

Arthur made a doubtful noise. “Sounds like someone’s got some role ambiguity going on.”

Richardson stared at him in bewildered outrage and the goons stared at him astonished realization.

Arthur gave them a commiserating look. “Maybe it’s time for you guys to have a discussion about group norms and expectations. Take the chance to really define your characteristics and get your cohesiveness back to comfort level.”

The first goon nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s...yeah. Good advice, thanks Darling. C’mon lads, Richardson.”

They wrangled a spluttering Richardson off down the hallway and around the corner and Arthur turned back to Robert and Drake.

“Are you _magic?_ ” Robert demanded. “Did you _drug_ them before we came out?”

Drake slid down the wall, laughing silently and clutching his stomach.

Robert kicked at him gently. “Get up here and help me out!”

Drake shook his head, turning bright red as he struggled to breathe through his fit of mirth. He gestured wildly at Arthur and at Robert and then back at Arthur.

“I think he means you’re on your own,” Arthur translated wryly.

“I...”

“Hey, is your father showing up on Wednesday?”

“How...” Robert stared at him, speechless again, and Drake quivered, sucking in a gasping breath and then collapsing in a twitching heap of fresh soundless laughter.

Arthur waved Robert back into his room and reached down to grab Drake’s ankles as he passed, dragging him, scrabbling at the floor and doorway, inside.

“I was just talking to Mal and she mentioned that this Paul person was coming on Wednesday and he usually accompanies your father. No magic involved.”

Robert blinked as he mentally re-engaged with the conversation. “Yes, my father texted this morning that he’d be here on Wednesday. He likes to periodically drop in and check on me, as well as those he’s collected here. And Lukas is often with him.”

“Lukas?”

“His real name as far as I know. Paul was what he was to Mal and I don’t think she ever looked deep enough to find any other name. A gesture of trust, apparently,” Robert said, mildly embarrassed.

“A highly significant one, in my opinion, from a COS commando,” Arthur agreed. “She was pretty deeply in love.”

“Lukas can be...very convincing.” Robert looked away as his jaw set. “My father warned me not to trust him, but...well. I learned that lesson, too.”

Drake got up from the floor, abruptly angry. “Did he do anything to you?” Arthur was surprised at his sudden possessiveness, but Robert just turned a smile on him.

“Not the way you’re fearing, no. He just wanted to...be my friend. He knew there was friction between my father and me, and I suspect he wanted ties to both of us, just to safeguard his position. It was good while I let it last, but I was always a little suspicious and eventually I fed him some information he gave to my father. It was something father and I had set up long ago; a warning flag of sorts that we would know meant a betrayal.” He sat down in a chair and clasped his hands together. “On the other hand, my father was delighted when he came to tell me. Meant we were playing the game together, he said. That we would be good business partners because we knew who _we_ could trust.” He looked down at his hands, his expression reflecting his self-disgust.

Drake stood behind Robert’s chair and rested his big hands on Robert’s shoulders. “Your da’s not got a leg to stand on when he talks about trust and betrayal, Robby. Else he’d not be constantly testing you.”

Arthur reflected that the two of them must done a fair amount of talking last night, among other things, and he was pleased by that.

Robert flashed a quick smile up at Drake and then sobered. “He’s going to want to test you, too, Marc. It might be better for you to report directly to him...”

“I didn’t spend near two years pining for your da. I’ll not report to him over you ever.”

Arthur sat down cross-legged on Robert’s bed, deliberately choosing it to remind them of last night, to relax them unconsciously. “In the interests of trust...”

Drake snorted. “You gonna come clean about being some sort of spy?”

Arthur gave him a wry glance. “This was an extremely last-minute cover, not of my choosing, but better than giving Cobol the opportunity to pay someone the price on my head.”

“Mombasa!” Robert gasped.

He inclined his head. “Last Monday was a hell of a day.”

“Lukas came back from that with a minor gunshot injury! He was so pissed off because apparently someone from Cobol thought it’d make his ‘death’ more authentic looking.”

All the pieces finally fell into place for Arthur. “Lukas _Nash_. That fucking...”

He grabbed for his cell phone and dialed quickly, controlling his urge to destroy something, anything, in reach as he waited for Cobb to pick up. “Dom. The leak is Nash. He works for Fischer-Morrow, was the one who gave up Mallorie Miles to Maurice Fischer. I’m betting he was involved with trapping Eames, too.”

Dom was quiet for a long moment and Arthur had a paranoid flash of fear that Dom already knew, was part of it, was setting him up. He shoved it down fiercely. He trusted Dom.

“Are you sure he’s alive?” Dom’s voice was slow, thoughtful.

“Robert Fischer heard from him.” Arthur glanced at Robert, who nodded vigorously.

Dom hummed thoughtfully. “And he’s going to be at the school on Wednesday.” Arthur could hear the sound of a pen tapping against Dom’s teeth, a truly irritating habit he was suddenly grateful for; it meant Dom was in the throes of planning. And that meant Dom wasn’t involved in the betrayal. It meant Arthur wasn’t entirely on his own.

Dom chuckled softly. “I heard that exhale, Arthur.”

“I do trust you, Dom. I can’t help the fears.”

“Can’t say I blame you. Though...is Fischer there with you right now?”

“And Marcus Drake,” Arthur confirmed, giving them a reassuring nod.

“That’s a metric fuck-ton of people who are in on your cover, Arthur. There’s a lot of trust happening on your end right now.”

“There’s been a metric fuck-ton of flashes of panic, too,” Arthur said wryly. “I haven’t exactly had reliable intel, as you may recall.”

“Some here at the Company thought you might go rogue,” Dom said softly. “In light of the amount on your head, they wanted to keep you in the dark. Or write you off.”

Arthur felt a chill. “ _You_ didn’t. Or you wouldn’t be telling me this.”

“I didn’t.”

“You know I finish what I start.”

“If you can, yes.” Dom laughed. “And not only are you still on the job, _you_ found _us_ the answer we’ve been looking for, and you’re pulling in resources nobody dreamed of. Speaking of resources, I’ve got Saito.”

“The head of Proclus Global is here in _England_? With _you_?”

“Don’t sound so bewildered by the concept. He’s standing right here. He’s taken all this brouhaha a bit personally, and... Oh, he wants to speak with you. Hold on.”

“...brouhaha, Mr Cobb? Arthur.” The voice of one of the most powerful men in the world, when he came on the line, was calm and even. “I wished to convey my thanks and to assure you that I will see this... donnybrook? Really, Mr Cobb?... through with the full sway of all my resources. This _commission_ went so spectacularly awry that I felt I needed to look into it myself, but please allow me to say that I am thoroughly impressed with you thus far.”

“I...thank you, sir.”

“And I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.”

“You...yes, sir. It should be quite the experience for us all.”

Saito laughed easily. “Indeed. Mr Cobb?”

Dom came back on the line. “Tell Fischer to expect his guests after your last class tomorrow.”

“All right. We’ll fill each other in on the plans then?”

“Yeah. Arthur...”

“Yeah?”

“Well done,” Dom said quietly. “Really. Beyond all expectations, even mine.”

“Mmm. I suppose you’re welcome?”

“One last thing. Don’t tell Eames about this.”

“Dom.”

“Arthur, I don’t want even the faintest risk of another betrayal. More lives than yours hang on this. I don’t care if he’s the best fuck you’ve ever had and he’s declared his undying love, don’t create the temptation for him. Don’t put him in the position where he has to make a choice.”

Arthur took three very deep breaths. “See you tomorrow, Dom.” And he hung up.

Drake gave him a concerned frown. “The life of a spy’s not all strawberries and cream, then?”

Arthur sighed. “I’m not a spy. I don’t work for a government.”

“No,” Robert said. “You’re an operator that works for a mercenary outfit called the Company. And if you’re the Arthur that Lukas is always swearing over...”

“Nash is an incompetent weasel,” Arthur snapped. “Don’t go by what he has to say.”

Robert held up his hands soothingly. “I think he knows, deep down, that he has never and will never measure up to you, and he hates you for it.”

Arthur was not soothed. “Nash will never measure up because of his own shortcomings, not because anyone was comparing us.”

“He would know that, too,” Robert said softly. “And I’m sure that makes the hatred burn all the fiercer.”

Arthur scowled at him hard enough to make Drake put a protective hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Do you want me to feel sorry for him?” he demanded, ignoring the look Drake was sending him.

Robert shook his head with a sad smile. “He’d hate you even more if he thought you pitied him.”

“People who trusted him are dead or in hiding with a global corporation and all their resources after them,” Arthur snapped. “Others have ended up in your father’s collection.” Robert flinched at that. “I have no sympathy for anyone whose actions have those results, regardless of what his motivations might be.”

Drake joined the fray with an odd smile. “Rough words, coming from a killer and a thief.”

“I won’t try to excuse what I am.” Arthur scrubbed at his face, abruptly tired. “But since we’re being honest, I do what I do mostly because I’m very very good at it. The killing bit is actually a pretty tiny portion. We’re mainly interested in information. Most of my jobs involved cover personas, get in, get the information, get out. As surgical as possible and leaving no trail at all. I don’t double-cross the clients _or_ my associates and I do the job to the best of my abilities. If there’s a kill count, something has gone very wrong. But I’m good at that, too.”

Drake nodded slowly. “Wasn’t really doubting you, just to be clear. Your essential character shows, Arthur.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose, caught unprepared. “Umm. Thanks.”

“Since you’re being honest,” Robert said tentatively, gesturing at the cell phone Arthur was still holding.

He sighed, feeling like he was doing a lot of that today. “The Company is sending people here tomorrow, including my handler Dom, ostensibly to begin to train you, Drake, in the skills you’d need as a bodyguard. That part actually will happen, so be prepared to work. Mr Saito, the head of Proclus Global, will be included since it was his op that went bad and he’s apparently taking a personal interest. They’ll be arriving at the end of classes tomorrow as your guests, Robert, so you might want to contact your father today as preparation. Everyone will have impeccable covers in place for your father to check out.”

“ _Saito’s_ coming here?” Robert asked weakly. “Damn. I haven’t seen him since I was ten or so, and he terrified me then.”

“And what else?” Drake asked, studying Arthur’s face.

“I’ve got an idea to resolve a lot of this; I need to talk to Mal again but I need to do a bunch of planning first.”

“And what else?” Drake insisted.

Arthur blew out an exasperated breath and looked away. “Dom doesn’t want me to tell Eames about any of this.”

“Because he thinks Eames will betray you,” Robert guessed. Arthur shrugged, trying to pack all of the unusual emotional excesses away for the moment.

Drake smiled at Arthur, nodding slowly. “Right. Carry on then.”

Arthur narrowed his gaze at Drake. “You think you know something?”

“Are you planning to involve Ariadne and Yusuf?”

Arthur paused to consider, allowing the distraction. “They at least have to know. I won’t let them be unknowing targets just because they’re associated with me.”

Drake grinned. “Of course you won’t.”

Arthur glared at him again.

Drake snickered and gestured at him. “Get off the bed and get out. We need to make use of it very shortly.”

Robert blushed, then frowned. “No, wait. What was all that group stuff going on out there in the corridor before?”

Arthur smiled crookedly. “Back in the military, one of the two infiltration instructors had a hard-on for British colonial history and the other was _seriously_ into group dynamics theory. As a test, the GD instructor had me infiltrate a corporate consultant team, teaching GD theory to CEOs with way too much money and time on their hands.”

Drake snorted, shaking his head. “I can picture that very easily. Now go away.”

Arthur went directly to Eames’ office, still not sure what he was going to do. Eames’ door was open and he had several students inside.

Arthur stuck his head in and Eames glanced at him, gave him the very faintest wink, and then a fearsome scowl. “Darling.” Everybody in the office turned to look at Arthur, but he ignored them.

“Mr Eames.”

“Did you come to apologize, Darling?”

Arthur blinked at him. “Apologize? What for?”

Eames crossed his arms, all sleek muscles and broad shoulders under his old-fashioned shirt and Arthur felt his mouth water slightly. “For not respecting my authority.”

There were scattered stifled laughs. Arthur glanced around, feeling his eyebrow crawl upward. “Well, Mr Eames, I can only offer my sincerest apologies for appearing to disrespect your authority. It certainly wasn’t intentional.”

“Hmm. That’s a handsome enough apology. I think we’re good. Do you have your camera with you, Darling?”

Arthur lifted his cell phone and Eames rolled his eyes. “Kids these days. I thought you had an actual camera.”

“Perhaps you’d like to review what I have so far and tell me if they do or don’t meet your artistic standards?”

Eames smiled. “Actually, yes, that’s a marvelous idea. You lot run along and I’ll see you in classes tomorrow.”

With murmured sounds of disappointment, the students withdrew and Arthur, at Eames’ gesture, closed and quietly locked the door behind them.

When he turned, Eames was coming around the desk and then he was cupping Arthur's face as he kissed him.

Arthur made a helpless noise in his throat and kissed him back, his hands sliding up Eames’ hips and around to press the thin material of Eames’ shirt against skin as he drew his palms over the the contours of Eames’ muscular back.

“Fuck, Arthur, you've been driving me mad all morning,” Eames growled against his mouth. “I thought I was going to have to do something drastic to get my hands on you today.”

“Eames, shut up and keep kissing me or I'll find some other use for that mouth,” Arthur said.

Eames chuckled and leaned back a little. “Oh, really? Have you been thinking of my mouth?”

“I'd like it better wrapped around my dick than talking right now.”

Eames laughed softly, cupping Arthur though his trousers and making him gasp. “Oh darling, you're practically ready to come and I'm not even on my knees yet.”

“Speaking of...” Arthur dropped to his knees, looking up at Eames, who inhaled noisily and bit his lower lip.

Arthur grinned at that. “Like you're going to last much longer,” he said, unzipping Eames’ trousers and reaching in to gently pull his erection out.

“God, Arthur,” Eames gasped, tangling his fingers in Arthur's hair. Arthur inhaled along the length of him, dropping a kiss at the base as he tilted him up and lightly sucked at Eames’ balls.

Eames’ knees wobbled a little and Arthur pressed his hips backwards, guiding Eames into one of his office chairs. Arthur followed on his knees, settling between Eames’ feet and pulling Eames’ hips forward until he was sitting on the edge of the seat, almost reclined, and gently mouthed each ball, rolling his tongue around them and sucking at the loose skin.

“Arthur,” Eames groaned, tugging at Arthur's hair. “I need...”

Arthur kissed his way up Eames’ cock, holding the shaft in one hand and enveloping the head in his mouth, working his tongue just under the foreskin, pushing it back and sucking it gently forward again, his tongue tip gathering up Eames’ taste as he leaked with almost every teasing lick. Eames moaned wordlessly, hands clenching over and over again in Arthur's hair. His hips shifted, obviously wanting to thrust into Arthur's mouth. Arthur hummed around Eames’ cock, working his mouth down and up the shaft repeatedly, lower each time until his nose touched Eames’ belly. The last time he sank all the way down, he cupped Eames’ balls in one hand, tugging gently and rolling them, and massaging the sensitive area behind them with the fingers of his other hand.

Eames came with a muffled shout, and Arthur swallowed repeatedly as he held Eames’ hips firmly back against the chair. He let Eames’ cock slip out of his mouth with a few last lingering licks and tucked him gently back into his trousers before settling back on his heels to look up at him.

Arthur had always been rather proud of his blowjobs and he savored the flushed and dazed look on Eames’ face, eyes wide and unfocused and his hand still pressed against his mouth from stifling himself.

When Eames dropped his hand away, Arthur could see the crooked imprints his teeth had left in the skin, and he groaned, leaning his forehead against Eames’ thigh.

“Oh darling,” Eames murmured. “Up with you.” He tugged at Arthur until he stood and pushed him gently backward against the desk, settling to his knees between Arthur's legs. He unbuttoned and unzipped Arthur's trousers, grinning at the guttural noise Arthur made as Eames’ hands cradled his throbbing erection and worked the shaft, spreading the wetness Arthur was leaking.

When Arthur was making almost-pained noises through his clenched teeth, Eames swooped down and took him all the way to the root in his first dive, slipping back up to suck at the crown while he fisted Arthur with one hand for a couple strong strokes, and Arthur only got one good look at those lips wrapped around his dick before he was coming, jerking helplessly into Eames’ mouth, a little trace of come escaping the corner of Eames’ mouth as he swallowed.

When Arthur blinked out of his daze, Eames was using his own thumb to capture the drip and lick it off, lips red and luscious as he watched Arthur, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Call it a draw?” Eames licked his lips and the corners of his mouth and grinned at Arthur.

“Was it a competition?” Arthur asked weakly.

“Well, it wasn't, pet, until you gave me that unbearably smug look while you were on your knees. Then it was all bets off.” Eames tucked Arthur back into his trousers with what Arthur judged was a rather self-satisfied air himself.

Arthur let himself down to sit with his back to the bulk of the desk, tugging Eames to sit next to him, and took a deep breath.

“Something on your mind, darling?”

“My handler’s name is Dom Cobb. Did you do something to him personally?”

Eames huffed a laugh. “Doesn’t sound familiar. I take it he’s not well pleased with some of your choices?”

Arthur let his head rest back against the wood and smiled, knowing his dimples were showing. “They weren’t his choices to make and I don’t regret making them. One more diversion before I get to my point. How about Lukas Nash?”

Eames actually hissed through clenched teeth. “Maurice Fischer’s rat. What about him?”

Arthur laughed a little wearily. “Let me tell you a story. It starts with me leaving the military and joining a freelance group called the Company where one Lukas Nash, well-known brown-noser and all-around suck-up, was laboring under the misapprehension that he was the Golden Boy of field agents.”

Eames growled. “And it ends last Monday evening in Mombasa, where your entire operation was ambushed.”

Arthur looked down at his hands and shrugged. “Well, it hasn’t ended yet. Nash and Fischer are supposed to be here on Wednesday. Tomorrow, Dom and some others are coming in under the cover of trainers for Drake, in his upcoming career as Robert Fischer’s personal bodyguard.”

Eames was silent for a long moment, his face settling into blankness. Arthur let the flash of panic rise and fall away again.

Eames turned to look at him. “Your breathing changed a little, Arthur.”

“I could lie and say I’m thinking about killing Nash.”

“You could,” Eames agreed, studying him. “Your handler ordered you not to tell me, didn’t he?”

“Dom’s not on the spot.”

Eames took Arthur’s hand and turned it over in his to study the palm, rubbing a thumb over Arthur’s wrist. “And you’re hardly unbiased.” He lifted Arthur’s hand to his mouth, dropping a light kiss in the center of his palm.

“True,” Arthur said unsteadily.

“Arthur.” Eames said his name warmly, drawing it out like he was caressing the sounds. He pulled Arthur over to straddle Eames’ outstretched legs and held his face, thumbs touching Arthur’s mouth. “You’re working so hard at this. You come to me almost completely unarmed every time, you tell me your secrets even when it makes you flinch inside, you manfully hide the little surges of panic when you remember that I could turn you in for my freedom, and you have _never once_ asked for any reassurance that I won’t do exactly that.”

Arthur stared at him, his hands on Eames’ shoulders and his pulse thundering at his temples and in his groin.

“I believe that you trust me, Arthur.” Eames sighed. “Or at least that you want to trust me.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “What do you know about dreamsharing?”

“Well, that’s a hell of a non sequitur.”

“It’s really not, but there’s a lot that leads into it.”

Eames huffed a laugh again. “Okay. ‘Not much’ is your answer. I know Mal was working on a chemical that’s supposed to induce the state and make it workable. Supposedly she’s done it, but won’t give it up to Fischer.”

“Just to toss around some ‘what ifs,’” Arthur said. “What if it works and we could use it on Maurice Fischer? What if we could find some secret or secrets that would force him to release you and Mal?”

Eames stared at him, his mouth open slightly.

“I believe if Mal needed to hide it from Fischer, then it’s pretty much ready,” Arthur continued. “And if Mal doesn’t have the equipment needed, I probably know someone who might.”

“Arthur, you’re either certifiable or a sodding _genius_.”

“You think it’s worth a try?”

Eames grinned at him. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	10. Still Still Sunday. This Titling Thing May Happen A Lot...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur confers with everybody before having a tiny temporary communication struggle with Eames. There are lots of mentions of refractory periods for reasons.

**Still Still Sunday**

Arthur went back to his room to find Yusuf and Ariadne huddled under Yusuf’s blankets, giggling. Ariadne shrieked, muffled against Yusuf, when the door opened, and Yusuf’s tousled head popped out of the blankets to glare at Arthur.

Arthur grinned at him. “It’s late afternoon, you libidinous lovebirds. Still daylight outside, so that officially makes this even more scandalous.”

“Arthur,” Ariadne growled and threw the blankets back, revealing them both to be nearly fully clothed, just rather mussed. “Why aren’t you messing about with Mr Eames?”

Arthur raised an amused eyebrow and Ariadne blushed but lifted her chin defiantly. He let the corner of his mouth curl up into a smirk. “Office hours are over. Older men need their rest and recovery time, after all.”

“Ooooh, I’m _so_ going to tell him you said that,” Ariadne said with a singsong lilt, ending on an upward note.

Arthur let his other eyebrow rise to join the first. “Ariadne, I would pay _money_ to watch you try to mock Eames about his refractory period.”

“What? _No!_ ” she shrieked, diving back under the covers. “That’s not what I meant!” she yelled, volume stifled as she tried to burrow under Yusuf. Yusuf’s face took on an uncomfortable urgency as Ariadne squirmed about against him and Arthur took a cruel sort of pity on his increasing desperation.

“Ari,” Arthur said, coming over to tug her away from Yusuf by the back of her blouse. “We may not all be in bed with a teenage boy, but _you currently are_ , and you’re killing him.”

“Oh god,” Yusuf moaned as Ariadne gave him a wide-eyed look and then a wicked grin.

“Yusuf,” she purred. “Am I killing you?”

He gave Arthur a pleading glance and Arthur shrugged at him. “Inevitable downsides of sleeping with a sexy pixie sprite, Yusuf.”

Yusuf winced as Ariadne bounced in the bed next to him. “Arthur!” she exclaimed with delight. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Yusuf thinks you’re sexy,” Arthur said dryly. “So my opinion has no real bearing here, does it?”

“But you wouldn’t have said it if...” Ariadne trailed off when Yusuf put a gentle hand over her mouth.

“Should we vacate the room?” he asked Arthur. “I don’t mean to keep you away.”

“No. Actually, we three need to talk, if you can spare a few minutes from developing your amorous techniques.”

“Oh, do we get to hear your real story?” Ariadne asked with alert interest as she sat cross-legged on the bed. Yusuf leaned back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. 

Arthur raised a cool eyebrow. “What makes you think I have a different story?”

She shrugged. “Honestly, it’s just the speculative looks Mal keeps giving you when she thinks you can’t see them. And she doesn’t treat you like a kid. Sometimes she acts like you two share some kind of background. And we know _she’s_ more than she seems. So...”

Arthur made a noncommittal sound.

Yusuf narrowed his gaze at him. “Are you trying to protect us in some way?”

“Things...might get dangerous for my friends in the next few days, in a way I never anticipated when I arrived here. Now would be a good time to distance yourselves publicly, for your own safety.”

Yusuf snorted. “What’s your assessment of the likelihood of that?”

“Pretty evenly split between you picking up Ariadne and heading to the hills to keep her out of trouble and you and she both telling me to suck balls and get on with explanations.”

“Bollocks,” Yusuf said succinctly and Ariadne tossed him a quick proud smile and nodded at Arthur.

“As my boyfriend says. But what about Drake and Robert?”

“Part of it involves Robert directly, so I’ve already spoken with them. You two are the only ones with a real choice about it.”

“Well, balls to that,” Ariadne snorted. “As if we’d leave. Get on with the story.”

Arthur sighed. “I’m a field agent for a mercenary group called the Company and I’m twenty-three, not seventeen. Our last op went dramatically bad when we were betrayed by one of our own agents, and I was forced to hide here under a schoolboy cover since the corporations involved put a hit out on me.”

Ariadne stared at him with her mouth hanging open.

Yusuf scrubbed his face. “I’m thinking I should’ve taken the other option.”

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look when Ariadne elbowed him. “Robert’s father is the head of one of the companies we were trying to get information from and it turns out that the agent who turned on us works for him. That agent is also the one who screwed over Mal and trapped Eames. And he and Robert’s father will be here on Wednesday.”

Yusuf frowned. “Do they know you’re here?”

“No. Or I’d already be dead.”

Yusuf’s frown did not go away. “Do Mal and Mr Eames know who you are?”

“Eames knows. Mal suspects, but I haven’t spoken with her yet about this.”

“Seems like you serve as a temptation there to either of them.”

Arthur gave Yusuf a wry look. “That possibility has crossed my mind a few times.” He shrugged. “I’m working on a plan that will give them both their freedom.”

“But you have to hide before the bad guys get here!” Ariadne hissed, glancing out the window.

Arthur laughed. “I’m afraid I’ve made myself very memorable in the short time I’ve been here. My leaving suddenly would make more of a splash than staying, I think. Besides, only Nash would recognize me, and we’ve got people coming in tomorrow to start training Drake for a career as Robert’s bodyguard. So Nash won’t be a problem for very long.”

Ariadne blinked and Arthur thought for a painful moment she’d balk at what he was hinting. “You lost people on that op, didn’t you? People died because of him?”

“Yes.”

She turned fierce. “Then he only gets what he deserves, doesn’t he.”

“I would certainly argue that, yes.”

“Right. Then what can we do to help?”

Arthur smiled at her, and at the way Yusuf’s hand sneaked out to take hers. “Right now? Draw attention. Be adorable and in lust and distracting. As soon as I’ve got a plan knocked together we’ll discuss it. Probably tomorrow evening. In the meantime, go take a walk. I need a nap before dinner.”

Ariadne snorted. “Guess that ‘older man’ managed to tire you a bit after all.” And she dragged Yusuf out of the room with a triumphant air.

Arthur shook his head with a smile as he dropped onto his bed.

At dinner, Ariadne and Yusuf were fairly cringe-inducing in their interactions with one another.

“Abso-fucking-lutely _disgusting_ ,” Drake opined as he watched Ariadne feed Yusuf bite-sized pieces of fruit with little cooing noises. “Bloody _appalling_ , if I’m honest. There’s such a thing as too...” He broke off when Robert trailed a finger through the crème fraîche and touched it to Drake’s mouth.

“Shut it,” Robert suggested with a smile as color rose in Drake’s cheeks.

After dinner, Arthur went to Mal’s office and found Eames there, too.

“Been talking with Mal about dreamsharing,” Eames said as Arthur carefully closed and locked the office door. “She knows your lad Cobb.”

“I know _of_ ,” Mal corrected.

Arthur frowned. “How do you know of him?”

“Dominic Cobb was the contact for the American military team involved with dreamsharing,” she said briskly, with little trace of an accent. “The American military approach has mainly been on training their soldiers in advanced techniques and in a much shorter timeframe than in reality.” Her mouth twisted in a moue and she shrugged. “And training to withstand interrogation and torture. He did much of the coordination, so I have heard, until they had a little problem with one of their compounds. I never met him, he had left by that time, but I was contacted to help troubleshoot the chemistry. It was at that point that I realized how horrific their process was. The corporate intent has always been much more about acquiring information, and that is grisly enough.”

Eames narrowed his eyes at Mal. “I’d really like you to define your parameters for ‘a little problem.’”

“The entire team killed each other in the most gruesome ways possible, almost as if they were trying to ensure their teammates stayed dead. The last then broke into a store of explosives and set them off around herself.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Eames swore.

Mal nodded. “Psychosis was...is...a serious problem with their techniques and their chemicals.”

Arthur tilted his head. “But not with yours.”

Mal gave him a wintry smile. “No.”

“Would you be willing to take us under for a specific task?”

“... _Fischer_. You want to go into Maurice Fischer’s head,” she breathed.

“I see an opportunity.” Arthur gestured to the three of them. “If we find something on Fischer, some leverage, then maybe we can free you and Eames. And maybe we can find something that’s enough to get the hit on me and my people called off.”

Mal paced back and forth in her office, murmuring under her breath in rapid-fire French. Arthur couldn’t catch much other than the occasional obscenities. Then she lifted her head. “I must think on this.”

Arthur nodded. “My people will be here tomorrow evening.”

“Yes, yes. We will speak then.”

Arthur gestured Eames to the door as Mal resumed her pacing.

In the hallway, he glanced over at the forger as they walked. “Did you tell her everything I told you?” He kept his voice low even as he kept a careful physical distance.

“Not quite everything,” Eames replied softly with a crooked smile. “But I figured it would help if she knew we were doing this together. That we were in it together. Are we going back to my office?”

“Do you have work to do?” he asked with wide-eyed innocence.

“Darling.” Eames’ voice was a quiet growl.

Arthur laughed. “Then come to the gym. I need to give Drake a little prep.”

“Is this meant to be showing off or just a slow burn?”

“Is it going to change how the evening ends?”

“No,” Eames rumbled, his eyes dark and hot.

Arthur smiled, though his pulse picked up.

Drake and Robert were already at the gym, and though Arthur had half-expected to interrupt something that couldn’t quite be categorized as sparring, he wasn’t expecting to find Drake pinning Robert to the wall fiercely, face and shoulders pressed hard, his left arm bent so far up behind him that Robert was on his tiptoes trying to relieve the strain.

Eames’ eyebrows rose and his mouth opened, but Arthur nudged him gently with shake of his head.

“So now what, Robby?” Drake murmured. “Gotcha so high up you don’t have the leverage to try for a leg sweep. Where d’you go from here to get free?”

Arthur watched Robert consider their positions and then push his right hand and arm between himself and the wall, using the momentum to twist his left shoulder back _into_ Drake’s hold and shoving hard so that they both fell backwards, Drake cushioning their fall with a laugh. Then he rolled them over to brace himself on his hands, grinning down at Robert who was framed between his arms.

“Perfect,” he said, leaning down to kiss him.

Eames cleared his throat and Drake huffed a laugh against Robert’s mouth, taking his kiss even as Robert blushed slightly.

“Well now, Mr Eames,” Drake said, turning his head to look at them but staying on top of Robert.

Robert shoved at him half-heartedly. “Get off, you idiot.”

Drake laughed again and pushed up, reaching down to pull Robert to his feet as well. Arthur felt a smirk rising at Robert’s entirely predictable reaction to this show of strength and restrained himself, giving Eames a quick sidelong look and catching the smirk the forger made no effort to hide.

Drake faced Arthur and Eames, casually keeping Robert behind his shoulder, and crossed his arms.

Eames burst into laughter. “You puppy! Fischer, no offense to you at all,” Fischer made a shrugging gesture with one hand and rolled his eyes, “but Jesus fucking Christ, Drake, do you see the man I’m standing next to? What do I want with your oh-so-pretty lad when I’m shagging the most dangerous man for kilometers around?”

“Only kilometers?” Arthur asked in mock affront.

“Well, England’s fairly compact, pet, we don’t know how many special forces might be scattered around amongst our picturesque hamlets and dells.”

Arthur gave this a moment of thoughtful consideration, then shrugged. “Fair enough. But Robert’s much better-looking than I am.”

“Darling,” Eames drawled. “Again, no offense to young Fischer, who’s going to be a danger to sanity when he grows into those eyes, but the sight of you splayed out underneath me and whimpering and clutching the sheets helplessly whilst I plunder you is...”

“Enough!” Drake exclaimed. “Fucking _Christ_ , enough, please?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Eames. “What, you’re not going to even mention when I bent you over the desk in your office and kicked your feet further apart and you ended up having to bite the wooden edge to keep quiet just from the feel of my fingers working you open?”

Drake made a strangled noise.

“Mmmm.” Eames’ gaze unfocused reminiscently. “Amazing as that was, and it felt bloody amazing, let me tell you, Drake, the problem with it was that I couldn’t _see_ you that time. What about the time I laid back on the bed and held onto...”

Drake turned and sank to his knees to bury his face against Robert’s belly, holding his shirt. “I’m truly sorry I got a bit territorial, Robby. Please ask them to stop.”

Robert idly stroked his fingers through Drake’s hair, his eyes wide and dark as he gazed at them. Then he smiled wickedly and twisted his grip tighter. “No, I think I’d like to hear more,” he said over Drake’s stifled groan.

Eames grinned at him. “That’s the way, Fischer. Remind him who’s actually in charge there.”

Robert snorted, dropping his eyes down to Drake, his hands cupping Drake’s face and turning it up to look at him. “We’re not having a problem with that,” he said softly. Drake stared up at him, hands tightening around Robert’s hips, his heart and his hopes splashed across his face. Robert touched his thumbs to the soft hollows under Drake’s eyes, his own gaze intent, then sighed, his expression shuttering. “Face,” he murmured, sounding sad at the necessity. “Father would eat you alive if he saw that, my wolf.”

Drake looked down, but his hands gripped more firmly. “That’s gonna be hard, Robby, but yeah.”

“It’ll be less difficult than you think,” Arthur said. “You’ll be surrounded by potential enemies, Drake, your street instincts will serve you well.”

“Yeah?” Drake sounded a bit encouraged by that. He rose to his feet and smiled down at Robert. “Well, we’ll make it work.”

Robert still had that sad look, though he tried to smile back. “You’ve got a lot of skills to learn before my father will consider you useful. There’s so much hard work ahead of you and I can’t really help with much of it.” He looked away and Arthur barely heard his whisper. “How can this be worth it for you?”

“Robby.” Drake took Robert’s chin in his hand and lifted his face. “Is it so hard for you to believe that you might inspire personal loyalty? At the very least, which I assure you is not the case here?”

The miserable look on Robert’s face spoke eloquently of trust betrayed and hopes dashed. But Arthur smiled to himself, even as Drake made a furious noise and gathered Robert up in an angry kiss, because that look alone, displayed clearly as it was, meant Robert was, metaphorically, showing Drake his belly. There was already trust there, and hope, and a desperate craving for someone to share his burden.

Eames rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder from behind and wrapped his arms around him. “Bloody buggering fuck,” he whispered obscenely right into Arthur’s ear. “I’m so glad I’m not a teenage lad anymore.”

Arthur huffed a nearly silent laugh. “There were compensations,” he whispered back, turning his head to brush Eames’ stubbled cheek.

“Mmmm. Before you, I’d’ve said a practically nonexistent refractory period wasn’t enough.”

Arthur rubbed his ass back against Eames’ crotch. “Longer refractory periods can be compensated for with creative foreplay.”

“Is _that_ what you’re calling torture techniques these days? Because I’ll admit you’ve a talent for _that_.”

“Eames.” Arthur was trying to sound stern, but even he could hear the delighted laughter bubbling underneath it.

“Hush, darling, behave. We should be making a good example for the next generation.”

Arthur glanced back at Drake and Robert to find them in an echoed embrace, Drake wrapped around Robert from behind, and both of them regarding him with entertained amusement. He snorted. “Eames, you haven’t been a good example in your entire life. In fact, I suspect you’ve never been anything but a warning to others.”

Eames chuckled, nipping Arthur’s earlobe lightly and drawing a tiny pleased sound from him. “You’re making me want to put that sharp tongue to use, pet. If you’ve something to pass along to young Drake, I suggest you start soon.”

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and touched the back of Eames’ hand before stepping out of the embrace. “Drake. Get something to write on, I’ve a long list for you.”

Later, laying in Eames’ bed, sweat drying on their bodies, Arthur began lightly tracing the outlines of Eames’ tattoos.

“Good thing I’m not ticklish,” Eames murmured, stretching lazily. His muscles moved under the skin and under Arthur’s fingertips and Arthur made a greedy sound before he leaned over to replace his fingers with his tongue. Eames breathed out hard and then groaned, tugging at Arthur’s tousled hair.

“No longer a teenager, remember? Darling?” Eames groaned again as Arthur licked lower, his hips shifting under the onslaught. “Oh god, pet, refractory period, refractory period!”

Arthur burst out laughing against Eames’ belly, rolling off him to the side to grin at the ceiling.

Eames reached out and gathered Arthur back against him, spooning him and nuzzling against the nape of Arthur’s neck, his breath stirring the short hairs.

“Don’t tell me you’re a secret cuddler.” Arthur kept his mockery gentle since he found himself relaxing in Eames’ embrace and he’d never cared for hypocrisy.

“As secret as your easy acceptance of being the little spoon.” Eames laughed softly as Arthur wriggled back against him, getting comfortable.

Arthur was silent for a moment as they settled. “Only with you, though,” he said finally, hesitantly.

“Mmm.” Eames was clearly sleepy, and there was another pause while Arthur bit his own lip and waited, getting more tense rather than relaxed. “Petal,” Eames finally murmured. “What’s got you tangled up?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Go to sleep.”

Eames yawned mightily and stretched, then gave himself a shake. “Come on, turn around. Let me see you.”

“Eames...”

“Arthur. Turn over.” Eames’ voice was getting firmer as he woke up completely.

Arthur reluctantly turned over, staring at Eames’ mouth rather than meeting his eyes. Eames’ lips quirked and he tapped a finger under Arthur’s chin.

“It’s not like you to be so uncertain, darling. Now what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Arthur sighed, suddenly hating this policy of honesty he’d adopted in his dealings with Eames. He closed his eyes and exhaled, then opened them to meet Eames’ curious and amused look.

“I admit, darling, that I would be worried about this upcoming confession from anyone else, but then I would never be in this situation with anyone else. What momentous statement have you just nerved yourself to make?”

Arthur found his mouth curling wryly as he relaxed. “Way to steal my thunder, you bastard. It’s just that...I don’t...I wouldn’t be _sleeping_ with anyone else at all. Ever. I...”

Eames dropped a gentle kiss on the tip of Arthur’s nose. “D’you think I make a habit of sleeping in the presence of someone I don’t trust?”

“No. Exactly.” Arthur made a frustrated gesture and Eames caught his hand and laid it against his chest. Arthur circled his fingertips through the light hairs there. “I trust you, Eames. You know that already.” Eames gave him a slight nod, watching him intently, and Arthur sighed. “I don’t want to create any pressure on you. I want you to feel completely free to choose your actions regardless of how I feel.” He glared at Eames’ amused noise.

“Darling,” he murmured, putting his fingers against Arthur’s mouth. “You’re overthinking this. And don’t think I’m not complimented by that, but it just isn’t necessary.” He kissed Arthur’s nose again. “I’m going to say something potentially offensive, all right? Sometimes I forget that you’re only twenty-three and then something like this happens.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “I’m offended.”

“Mmm. I very much like what we have. I want it to continue. I’m also intrigued by this dream plan thingy and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Arthur sighed and relaxed, tucking his face under Eames’ chin for a moment. “I couldn’t ask for any clearer than that, I suppose. And I feel like I shouldn’t even ask.”

Eames stroked his back soothingly. “You can always ask, pet. And I will promise you this in return - if my feelings change, I will do you the courtesy of telling you.” Arthur looked back up at him, searching Eames’ face. Eames smiled that crooked smile at him. “You’re a naturally paranoid and suspicious perfectionist and that’s kept you alive and in good stead, petal. That you try to set that aside for me is both worrisome and more flattering than I can express.”

“I don’t mean to...”

“Arthur.” Eames drew his name out lingeringly. “Hush. We’re good.”

Arthur sighed and nodded, turning back over to let Eames spoon him again. They both yawned, jaw-cracking wide, and then Eames settled with his face against the nape of Arthur’s neck, his lips moving slightly as if in slow speech. Arthur thought he caught the rhythm of poetry in the brushes of the lips against his skin, in the gentle susurration of measured breaths, and though he could make out no words, the cadence soothed him into sleep.


	11. Monday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning with Eames, Ariadne and Drake banter, Eames is a bit of a berk in class, and Dom and Saito arrive (and Dom goes all heart-eyes at Mal)

**Monday Next**

Arthur’s cell phone alarm, tucked under his pillow with the volume turned down low, went off well before dawn. He slid a hand under and silenced it, then took a long moment to luxuriate in the softness of the bed, the warmth and solidity of Eames at his back, the peace and silence and ease of the moment.

Eames brushed a stubbly kiss over the back of his shoulder. “Darling,” he rumbled, his morning voice low and rough. “I hate that you have to get up early to leave.”

Arthur found a smile rising. “But?”

“Do get out so I can go back to sleep, hmm?”

He laughed, sliding out of the bed and restraining the petty impulse to pull the covers off. “He’s probably worth it, probably, remember he’s likely to be worth it...” he chanted as he pulled his clothes on.

Eames chuckled and rolled forward to bury his face where Arthur had been laying. He sniffed inquisitively at the sheets and exhaled in contentment, flattening against the bed until he almost disappeared under the blankets.

Arthur felt a rising warmth in his chest as he watched Eames drift off again and firmly tucked it away as he slipped out and made his way back to his room.

He showered before curling up, partly dressed, in his Eames-less twin bed, setting his alarm again to give him just enough time to make it to morning mass.

He woke groggy the second time that morning; Eames had been oddly demanding, possibly due to making his semi-public declaration to Drake and Robert, and Arthur had felt an answering insatiability that had kept them at each other for hours. And though Arthur relished his slight aches and twinges, he found himself kneeling in morning mass with a tired but petty smirk, hoping Eames was feeling this morning after even more keenly.

He managed to keep himself from dozing off in mass and was utterly grateful when Ariadne met him and Yusuf with cups of espresso at breakfast afterwards.

“You’re the best guardian pixie sprite in the entire universe,” he said fervently, cradling the cup under his nose and inhaling until his lungs were full.

Ariadne laughed and pressed herself to Yusuf for a kiss, tugging his arms around her when he set his cup down.

“Ugh, pixie spit,” Drake snarked as he brushed by to take a seat. “Maybe Yusuf can derive an antidote before his brain melts.”

“See, here’s the thing,” Ariadne remarked to the air. “I might be more offended by you if I hadn’t _just_ seen you look around for Robert like a lost puppy looking for his owner.”

Drake snorted and looked away, trying not to be obvious as he glanced around the room again.

“Awwww! You are _adorable_ when you’re all...”

“Do _not_ finish that statement,” Drake warned with a scowl.

She stomped over, grinning, threw her arms around him where he sat, and kissed his temple. “...in love,” she whispered in his ear.

Drake blushed and shoved her away, gently, making sure she didn’t fall against anything. “Go to hell, pixie nips.”

“Arthur, did _you_ know that wolves could blush?”

Arthur sighed and held the bridge of his nose. “I know that you’re leaving yourself open to some teasing you may not welcome.”

Ariadne pooh-poohed him and went over to sit on Yusuf’s lap.

Drake shook his head in disappointment. “Can’t tease her if she’s gonna be that brazen, the hussy.”

Ariadne gave a delighted trill of laughter. “Yusuf, I’m a hussy, did you hear?”

“A brazen one,” he agreed solemnly and she beamed at him.

Drake snorted, rolling his eyes, and glanced around again. “Arthur,” he warned, stiffening a bit.

“I see them,” Arthur said easily as two of Richardson’s cronies strolled into the dining room and towards their table. “Don’t get up, Drake, let’s just see what they’re intending.”

There was a noticeable dip in the conversational volume of the room as the two approached. They didn’t pause as they walked by, merely nodded to Arthur, who inclined his head in return, and kept going.

“Richardson’s fucking livid,” Drake remarked quietly, glancing at that table.

Robert had quietly followed the minions in and sat down now, resting a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Richardson’s not in charge anymore,” he said with a twist to his mouth. “Seems like his crew had a discussion and decided his ‘leadership style’ was ‘unformed and dysfunctional’ and that they needed to ‘review their membership’ for ‘emergent leaders who are a more positive influence over the group norms.’”

Drake snorted, and Robert smiled but then gave Arthur a sober look. “You’ve made an enemy there, Arthur. One who started with few scruples and hasn’t got much to lose anymore.”

Drake frowned. “That makes you a target then, Robby, since you’re hanging about with Arthur now.”

Robert shook his head. “His father works for my father. He’s not that stupid.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him.” Arthur glanced at Ariadne and she nodded with an evil grin. “Ariadne happens to know his girlfriend, after all. And Ariadne is dying to play spy games.” She nodded enthusiastically and then looked shifty, glancing around. “Although she’s terrible at it, and needs to learn to be subtle,” Arthur continued with a smile.

Yusuf snorted and pulled her face against his shoulder. “Subtle? Give her another 20 years, Arthur. That’s a pretty big ask, after all. Ouch! Stop biting, you hussy!”

“Wait,” Ariadne said, looking over at Robert. “What’s all this ‘group norm’ nonsense?”

Drake burst out laughing and Robert grinned at her. “Once upon a time,” he started.

“Yesterday afternoon,” Drake corrected.

Robert elbowed him. “In the faraway land of Dormitory Building A, an angry local chieftain...”

“Peckerhead Sackless Fuckwit Richardson the third,” Drake inserted.

“...demanded a meeting with the son of a powerful clan.”

“Our Robby.”

“While this chieftain attempted to air his complaints, his men...”

“Yon minions.”

“...guarded the hallway. A daring champion...”

“Our Arthur.”

“...attempting to deliver a message, was accosted by the overeager minions...” Robert paused, glancing at Drake, who shrugged. “Way to break the flow,” Robert said with mock disgust as Ariadne giggled. “Anyway, the champion overcame the minions in a battle of wits...”

“Not difficult.” Drake said dryly. Ariadne snickered and clasped her hands under her chin, waiting breathlessly for the rest.

“...and so thoroughly trounced them with his unforeseen and startling knowledge of group dynamics theory and British colonial history...”

“Christ on a fuzzy fleece cross, it was thing of fucking _beauty_ to behold.”

“...that it caused the minions to rethink the composition, purpose, and membership of their association according to the aforementioned group dynamics theory...”

“He started a sodding _mutiny_ there in the hallway.”

“...and the minions declared a truce and rose up and made away with the deposed local chieftain, leaving the battleground and the bloodless victory entirely to the champion.”

“And I laughed until I almost pissed meself,” Drake said grinning.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “He slid down the wall and I had to drag him by the ankles into Robert’s room.”

“Sounds like a magical moment,” Yusuf said dryly, patting Ariadne’s back as she gasped for breath between fits of laughter.

“Oh my _god_ ,” she panted. “Why wasn’t I there for that?”

Drake grinned at her. “You want it word for word? I’ve got pretty close to perfect recall.”

Arthur stood up. “I’m off to class.” He wasn’t quite fast enough to miss the start, and he could hear Ariadne‘s reactions for a good distance down the hallway.

When Arthur arrived at French class later that morning, he found Ariadne and Mal whispering fiercely at the head of the room. Mal gestured him to come over.

“We will need Ariadne and Yusuf’s services for this dream attempt, Arthur,” she said.

“What? Why?” Arthur touched Ariadne’s shoulder to soothe her when she bristled, but he kept his eyes on Mal.

“For a shared dream, a framework must be constructed and held by one of the dreamers that all who participate will inhabit. For that, we require an architect, though that position is not always filled by a literal architect. In this case, Ariadne has the requisite skills to build us a framework. She should not need to come under, though it is always good for the architect to check their framework with the dreamers present. To kick the tires, as you Americans say.”

“And Yusuf?”

“I will be working with Yusuf on the formulations of the chemicals necessary. He really is brilliant, Arthur, I am most impressed. And for safety’s sake, I would like one chemist under with the dreamers and one above to keep an eye on us. To check the reactions and intervene as necessary.”

Arthur nodded grudgingly and glanced at Ariadne. She glared at him and crossed her arms and he snorted. “I don’t have to ask whether you’re willing.”

“Don’t you try to keep us out of this, Arthur Darling,” she growled.

He looked back at Mal. “I believe it was your moral high ground about protecting the innocent.”

She grimaced and shrugged. “An ideal is a thing to cherish, but...”

“An operator knows that practicality is the rule.”

She looked away. “But I am no longer an operator, Arthur.”

“Do you want to be?”

She gave him a dangerous look. “I would not go back to the military, no.”

He shrugged. “There are other options. But let’s get you free first.”

She nodded. “Your people will meet tonight?”

“Yes. And we’ll all be involved.”

“Bon, très bon (Good, very good). Then let us begin class.”

In Art, Eames was already in the classroom, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. He looked so delicious that Arthur wanted to just go sit astride him, and, when Eames glanced up and smirked, Arthur realized that the bastard was doing it on purpose.

“Ah, Darling, there you are.”

“Mr Eames?” Arthur replied evenly.

A mischievous light sparked in his eyes. “Darling, your current crop of pictures? Well, they’re just...pedestrian, really. Have you no creativity, no imagination?”

Arthur gave him a very dry look. “Well golly, Mr Eames, this is Art class, right? Aren’t you supposed to be _teaching_ us that?”

Eames quirked those porn lips of his. “Mmm. So what you’re suggesting is that the failure is on my part?”

Arthur tried to kill him with his eyes. “I would never suggest a deficiency on the part of an authority figure. Oh wait, yes, actually I would.” There was a soft shocked gasp from somewhere in the classroom, but Ariadne started laughing.

“Mr Eames, behave yourself,” she scolded, trying to force a frown through her grin. “You’re just trying to create trouble.”

He gave her a practiced look of wide-eyed innocence, all blue-green eyes and mild wonder at her accusation. She snorted and he dropped it with a shrug and a wicked smile. “But Darling here is so fun to play with,” he said, flashing a wink at Arthur that sent a shiver down his knees.

“That’s hardly professional,” Ariadne said sternly.

Eames laughed. “Well, you’ve got me there, Ari.” He turned to Arthur with a big grin. “Seriously though, Darling, I would like to discuss your photo essay later. I think you may be overlooking some opportunities that I’d hate for you to miss. Nothing like doing your best work possible, yeah?”

Arthur gave him a grudging look. “I thought this was going to be an easy class.”

“Oh, I don’t think this will be too hard for you. See me after class in my office, please,” Eames smirked. Arthur tried to kill him with his eyes again, but when that failed, he trudged over to take his seat next to Ariadne. She patted him on the shoulder.

After class, he obediently followed Eames to his office, waiting until Eames had locked the door before shoving him against the wall and pushing his thigh into Eames’ crotch.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Eames said thickly as he ground against Arthur’s leg, his head dropping back against the wall and his eyes closing.

Arthur brought his mouth to Eames’ ear. “You’re doing a convincing job with the teacher/student thing, but surely you know I’ll make you pay for it in private,” he growled.

Eames laughed roughly as he wrapped his hands around Arthur’s hips to pull him even closer. “What else do I have to look forward to in this pesthole?”

Arthur kissed Eames until he was breathless and his lips were bruised-looking. Arthur ran a thumb over Eames’ bottom lip as he leaned into Eames, rubbing their cocks against each other. “I want to slide my dick between these gorgeous lips and watch you suck me down. And I want to fold you over your desk and fuck you until you have bruises on your thighs from the edge and you’ve come crying out my name.”

Eames groaned, and Arthur pushed his thumb into Eames’ mouth, watching his eyes slide shut while Arthur pressed down on his tongue, dragging his jaw open a little more. “Yeah, just like that, Eames. God, I want to spend days inside you.”

Eames made a desperate sound and Arthur smiled and leaned in closer. “But we don’t have time right now, do we, Mr Eames?”

Eames bit his thumb, not hard enough to draw blood, and Arthur laughed softly as he stroked Eames’ cheek with his fingers. “You _wanker_ ,” Eames muttered. “You’re not going to leave us both hanging.”

“No,” Arthur agreed and unzipped Eames’ trousers and then his own, hauling his dick out before reaching back into Eames’ pants. Eames gasped as Arthur wrapped his fingers around him and pulled him free, sliding his hand loosely down and up the shaft, watching the shift of skin as Eames squirmed, the contact not nearly enough to get him off.

“Arrrthurrr...” he whined, holding on to Arthur’s upper arms and trying to haul him closer.

Arthur presented his palm to Eames. “Lick,” he ordered, and then grinned. “Get it _wet_ ,” he said, teasing their cocks together with his other hand.

Eames groaned and shifted in his grip, licking Arthur’s palm until it was nearly dripping. He groaned again when Arthur wrapped his wet hand around both their cocks, and started thrusting into his own grip, the friction against Eames’ cock so luscious he gasped, leaning his forehead against Eames’ shoulder.

Eames came first with a strangled noise and Arthur barely got his other hand there in time to cup over their cocks. He was just a couple breaths behind, but came hard just as Eames hissed at the overstimulation. He kept his hand cupped over them through his orgasm and Eames reached over to his desk for some tissues to clean them up, kissing at Arthur’s cheek and down his jaw as he did.

Arthur gently tucked them both away and leaned in for a sweet lingering kiss, their mouths barely moving against each other.

Then Arthur felt Eames smile. “I bet you didn’t know there’s a shooting range on school grounds,” he murmured. Arthur made an avaricious sound and Eames chuckled wickedly. “Oh yes, there’s my skew-whiff darling.”

Arthur laughed. “You’re an asshole. I’ll come get you after classes to meet Dom and the others.”

“Mmm.” Eames kissed his nose and gave him a gentle shove away. “I suppose I’ll go back to playing teacher until then.”

After the last class of the day, Arthur collected Eames and brought him to the gym to wait. Mal was already there with Ariadne and Yusuf, and Robert and Drake would be bringing Dom and the others after checking them in at the Administration offices.

Eames watched Ariadne bounce in place for a few minutes before turning to Arthur with an eyebrow.

“Secret agents are super cool and exciting,” Arthur said dryly.

Eames snorted. “Mal, have you never told Ariadne that you were in the French special forces?”

Mal gave Eames a look as Ariadne turned to her like a magnet spinning north and Arthur snorted. “You can’t kill him with your eyes, I’ve already tried a bunch of times.”

Eames grinned. “I’m immune to eye lasers.”

“That is not how I would kill you,” she hissed as Ariadne did the in-real-life version of stars and hearts pouring out of her eyes. “Ariadne, ma chère (my dear), there is no romance in that story. It was hard work, and while any military is a difficult place for a competent woman, the special forces are distinctly worse. They do not officially recognize us, and the men themselves! Zut (Damn)! They forced me into a laboratory as soon as they could manage it, and happily accepted my request to leave to work for Fischer-Morrow.”

Ariadne failed to be deflated. “But you’re _dangerous!_ ”

“Petite (Little one), do you wish to learn the ways to kill a man? To shoot, to stab, to choke, to bludgeon? Do you wish to practice this over and over again until it is second nature, until you must consciously remember _not_ to kill?”

Ariadne glanced over at Arthur and he raised an eyebrow at her. She turned back to Mal.

“Yes!” she said emphatically. Mal threw her hands up.

“Yusuf, run now,” Eames said in a stage whisper.

“Look,” Arthur said firmly. “You can train alongside Drake and see how it goes.”

She gave Arthur the star- and heart-eyes.

“Here they come,” Yusuf said calmly, looking out the window.

Dom made a beeline for Arthur as soon as he entered the room, grabbing him by the face and looking him over. “You’re all right?”

“I just talked to you yesterday, Dom.” Arthur smiled and rolled his eyes.

“And I just checked him over thoroughly this afternoon, so I can assure you he’s fine,” Eames said. Arthur let slip a little sigh as Dom turned to face the thief.

“Dom, Eames. Eames, Dom,” Arthur said. “Now cut it out, there’s important stuff to discuss.”

“Yeah,” Ariadne said, with an eyebrow raised. “Like, I can’t tell from that — is this your handler or an ex-boyfriend?”

Dom turned to look down at her incredulously. “Who is this?”

Ariadne lifted her chin. “I’m part of Arthur’s team. You have a problem with that?”

Dom looked at Arthur.

“She’s asked a good question,” Drake said, stepping up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. “We _are_ Arthur’s team here. Are you gonna have a problem with including us?”

Yusuf moved forward to stand beside Ariadne, his eyebrow raised at Dom.

Mal burst out in a lovely spate of laughter. “Oh, Arthur! Such loyalty, such allegiance!”

Dom blinked at her and Arthur saw the shift happen — his stance, his face, his eyes — as the rest of the room went away. “Dominick Cobb,” he said a little breathlessly as he held out his hand. “Please, call me Dom. You must be Mallorie Miles.”

She smiled at him, taking his hand. “And you must call me Mal. I know you by reputation, Dom, from your work with the American military.”

Dom screwed his mouth to one side. “I left that behind.”

“Ah, but would you like to pick it up again?” she asked, not releasing his hand. “With a very different focus, of course. Nothing so brutal, so destructive. A matter of slyly slipping into a dream and out again, with the subject none the wiser.”

“You intrigue me, Mal. I’d really like to discuss this further with you.” His thumb rubbed slowly along the back of her hand.

Arthur cleared his throat. “We’re all going to discuss it since that’s the plan we’re evolving here. And everyone here is involved and participating.”

“Yeah!” Ariadne said stoutly.

Eames snorted quietly and looked away. “You and your circuses,” he murmured, barely loud enough for Arthur to hear.

Arthur sighed again and then looked up as Robert walked in the room with Saito, Robert nodding slowly as Saito leaned over him, hand brushing Robert’s shoulder, while he spoke in his soft even voice. Then Robert raised an eyebrow and straightened up with a laugh, saying “Thank you, but no, Mr Saito. I hardly think that would be appropriate, or even a good idea.”

Saito gave him a small smile. “I believed it was worth the attempt, Mr Fischer.” His eyes narrowed at Drake as the young man came over to stand at Robert’s shoulder.

Drake met him stare for stare for a moment, then bowed, at not quite the right degree but a fair attempt, Arthur thought, and stepped back to stand just behind Robert.

Saito’s gaze flicked from Drake to Robert, his mouth curving again at the corners, and he inclined his head. Then he turned to survey the rest of the room.

Arthur stepped forward to bow very precisely. “Mr Saito, welcome to St Berwick’s.”

Saito studied him for a long moment, then returned the bow. “Arthur,” he said. “This should be an interesting operation. Please introduce me to the rest of your team here.”

“I’d be delighted, sir. This...” He broke off as Eames stepped up, an insouciant grin on his face and a hand out to Saito.

“Mr Saito, pleasure to see you again.”

“Mr Eames,” Saito said. “I am not sure I can claim this as a pleasure after you stole my scroll from the Kyoto National Museum.”

Eames actually twinkled as he grinned. “Now, now, it was my understanding that you orchestrated that through a third party to test their security. And I did send it back to you.”

“Given your reputation, Mr Eames, you will understand my concern that what you sent back was a forgery.”

Eames rocked back and forth a little on his heels, his grin turning wicked. “But of course you had it tested and appraised. Didn’t it pass muster?”

Saito gave him a grim look. “The resulting conclusion was that it was either genuine or a copy so well executed that they could not tell the difference.”

Eames beamed. “Well then.”

Arthur rubbed his forehead. “So you’ve met Eames then. Right.” He gestured Ariadne and Yusuf over. “Ariadne, Yusuf, please meet Mr Saito, the head of Proclus Global. Mr Saito, this is Ariadne Bishop and Yusuf Amari, students here at St Berwick’s who have many of the skills we will need.” Both of them bowed to more or less the same degree Arthur had.

“Students?” Saito said with an eyebrow.

Ariadne straightened to her full height and crossed her arms, scowling. “Is everyone gonna be a di...a jerk about this?”

“Hey,” Drake drawled, only the faintest trace of mockery in his voice. “This is an important man, guardian pixie sprite. Show some respect.”

Yusuf shrugged. “He’s clearly important. But is he necessary to our plan?”

Saito glanced around at them, his eyebrow arched high, and then he laughed unexpectedly. “This should indeed be an _interesting_ operation, Arthur. And who is this lovely and dangerous woman whom Mr Cobb is monopolizing?”

Mal gave Dom a brilliant smile, leaving him reeling in the aftermath, and stepped forward to offer Saito her hand. “Je me presente Mallorie Miles, Monsieur Saito (I am Mallorie Miles, Mr Saito).”

He took her hand with a charming smile. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Miles, mais veuillez m’excuser. Je ne parle pas bien français (Delighted to meet you, Ms Miles, but please accept my apologies. My French is not the best).”

Mal laughed. “But your cultural understanding of flirting is de premier ordre (top notch), is it not?”

“One must be flexible in the world of international business, of course.” Saito let the corners of his eyes crease slightly in amusement when Ariadne snorted.

“Ariadne, that is hardly lady-like,” Mal chided over her own amusement.

Drake snorted. “Mal, Ariadne is hardly lady-like.”

Arthur held up a hand as Ariadne opened her mouth. She subsided with a low mutter about “big ginger weasels.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Drake, who sighed heavily. “I formally submit an apology to the GPS for my hasty and unkind words.”

Arthur looked back at Ariadne. “Hah!” she sniffed. “I reject your apology and choose vengeance at a later date instead.”

Drake shrugged. “Accepted. Good in the meantime?”

“Of course. We’ve got important work to get planned.”

They both nodded to each other and turned to Arthur expectantly.

Saito and Dom both blinked in the wake of that interaction and Mal let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, but welcome to the team, gentlemen!”

Once Dom, Saito, and the two ‘bodyguard trainers’ had been settled in guest quarters, and they’d all had dinner, Dom ‘suggested’ he and Arthur ‘take a walk.’ Eames, as he was leaving the dining room with the other teachers and administrators, glanced at Dom and smirked before heading out.

Arthur lead Dom out to the orchard, sitting under a tree comfortably to watch the moon rise while his handler and friend paced in front of him. “Dom. Do you have a personal thing about Eames or are you just being cautious?”

“You _are_ sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s _wise_ under the circumstances?”

Arthur sighed. “I think it was damn near inevitable, actually. Just take it as a given and let’s move on. Besides,” he cocked his head to look up at Dom, “we could be discussing Mal, instead.” That left Dom squinting uncomfortably at the moon and made Arthur huff a laugh. “Yeah, what I thought.”

Dom dropped down to sit beside Arthur. “Are you serious about this dreamsharing plan? It’s an ugly, messy business.”

“Mal seems pretty confident that it doesn’t have to be.”

Dom looked down at his hands. “It’s why I talked you out of re-enlisting, you know. They wanted to tap you for the next wave, but they were just wasting their best and brightest with a process that was aimed at making super soldiers but ended up with raw bloody chunks instead.”

“Thank you.”

“And yet here we are. Weird how the world circles around again.”

Arthur shrugged. “Then let’s do it better. We’ve got an...interesting...team to work with and lots of motivation to do it right. Maybe we can make something new out of this.”

“It’s your youth that makes you optimistic, isn’t it?”

Arthur let his head rest back against the tree as a smile brought out his dimples. “There are a lot of possible futures branching out from here, Dom. Doesn’t that make you the slightest bit optimistic?” He elbowed Dom lightly. “Some of them might even contain an ex-commando chemist named Mal.”

Dom made a scornful noise, but he turned his head away to hide his expression. “We should get back. You going to get some sleep?”

“Yes, I’m going straight back to my dorm room, dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (as always, suggestions and changes are welcome!):
> 
> Bon, très bon (Good, very good)  
> ma chère (my dear (fem))  
> Zut (Damn)  
> Petite (Little one (fem))  
> Je me presente Mallorie Miles, Monsieur Saito (I am Mallorie Miles, Mr Saito)  
> Enchanté, Mademoiselle Miles, mais veuillez m’excuser. Je ne parle pas bien français (Delighted to meet you, Ms Miles, but please accept my apologies. My French is not the best)  
> de premier ordre (top notch)


	12. Tuesday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ariadne and Yusuf get to play spy games (and Arthur is absolutely not forming a harem), Richardson loses his temper, and Arthur gains another team member.

**Tuesday Next**

Arthur woke up in his own bed the next morning, missing Eames but sensible enough to appreciate the full night’s sleep he’d gotten. He sighed to himself, stretching, and heard it echoed from Yusuf’s side of the room. “Missing Ariadne or having second thoughts about what’s coming up?”

Yusuf blushed. “The chemistry involved in dreamsharing is fascinating.”

“And you’ve gotten used to having a different, and much more immediately rewarding, roommate.”

Yusuf looked away, rubbing his hands through his hair and making the curls stand out in a rumpled mess. “I never thought I had a chance with anyone, much less _her_ ,” he said. “And I never would have tried, either.”

“You can’t know that,” Arthur said reasonably. “I don’t find you timid, you know, just cautious.”

Yusuf shook his head. “ _You_ changed everything.”

Arthur sat up and looked over at him. “Yusuf, what’s a chemical catalyst?”

Yusuf scowled at him. “Are you seriously asking?”

“It’s something you add to a mixture to get a reaction, right?”

“No, it’s something you add to speed up a reaction that was going to happen anyway, just much more slowly...” Yusuf looked thoughtful.

Arthur grinned at him. “Consider yourself sped up.”

As he moved from Mass to breakfast and classes, Arthur was irritated to discover Richardson keeping a very amateurish eye on him here and there.

“I can thump him for you,” Drake offered at lunch.

“ _You_ will stay out of trouble from here out,” Arthur said firmly. “Robert’s father will be looking for any excuse to send you off.”

Drake scowled. “There’s plenty in my past that will give him that.”

“But your behavior in the very recent past is what he’ll be looking at. And how you react to provocation. Saito, for instance, was _not_ propositioning Robert yesterday.”

Drake laughed softly. “No, he was testing his backbone and whether he was open to influence. And Robby did just fine with that, but I figured it’d be to the good to remind them both Robby wasn’t on his own.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur glanced up as Ariadne dropped down next to him at the table, her face gleeful.

Drake leaned away. “I’m alarmed at that expression on her.”

“I’m going to have to agree with you on that,” Arthur said, regarding her with wary amusement as she grabbed his arm.

“The sackless peckerhead was breaking into your room!” she hissed excitedly. “Took him long enough, too. Who doesn’t know how to pick the room locks? It’s like he’s never been to boarding school or something.”

Arthur snorted and raised an eyebrow at her. “And what else?” he asked as she bounced in place.

“Yusuf went and explained to his chemistry professor why he couldn’t turn in his assignment and old Rayleigh, cranky and ancient model of propriety that he is, stormed over and caught the idiot red-handed as he was going through your room. Dragged him to the Head’s office to make a formal complaint about ‘unbecoming behaviour in those of the class that should know better.’”

“Bless his elitist little soul,” Drake said dryly.

Ariadne shook her head with a sly grin. “No, Rayleigh’s a decent guy. But he sure knows how to make an argument that the Head will pay attention to, doesn’t he?”

“Hah!” Drake grinned back at her. “But what was he after?”

“Yusuf thinks he was thinking about planting something.” Ariadne bounced in her seat again, twinkling at Arthur. “So Yusuf went and talked to your boy Cobb, and Cobb gave him a tiny camera rig to hide in your room so we’ll _know_ if he does anything.”

Drake blinked. “You’ve had a busy morning, GPS. I am impressed,” he said with a wink.

“Screw your condescension, Drake,” she grinned back. “You’re just jealous you didn’t get to play spy.”

Drake shrugged with a smirk. “Yeah, but I’m also not the one with a camera rigged up in my snogging space.”

Ariadne’s face fell for a moment and Arthur patted her shoulder. “I’ll show you how to turn it off and on. No invasion of privacy necessary.”

“Aww, Arthur, you’re the best!” She leaned against him, head on his shoulder, and blinked up at him coquettishly.

“Yeah, Arthur,” Drake said in a horrifying falsetto as he leaned his head on Arthur’s other shoulder. “You _are_ the best!” He made kissy faces.

Arthur sighed and took a sip of his coffee as they competed to see who could make the most sickening cooing noises, raising an eyebrow at Robert and Yusuf when they drifted to an appalled halt in front of him.

“I don’t really want to know, do I?” Robert asked carefully.

“I wish I hadn’t seen it,” Yusuf said, nodding.

“Darling,” Eames drawled as he walked up behind Robert and Yusuf. “It’s really not the done thing to conduct your harem interviews in the dining hall.”

Arthur grimaced. “Mr Eames, I am never going to forgive you for that mental image of Drake in transparent billowy harem pants.”

Ariadne shrieked in laughter as she fell back in her chair, flapping her hand at Drake helplessly. Yusuf leaned close to her as she gasped and then straightened with a smirk. “I think I made out something about pretty ginger curls, but she’s not very coherent at the moment.”

“Mmm,” Robert said contemplatively as Drake rolled his eyes. “I think we’ve established your Halloween costume, Marc.”

Eames snorted. “Do let me know what party you’re attending where _that_ would be appropriate.”

Drake shrugged up at Robert with a leer. “If it’s naught but a bit of gauze you want me in...”

“Although,” Yusuf broke in hastily, “I’d have assumed some puppy ears and a leash would be more apt.”

Robert snorted and Drake gave Yusuf a wolfish grin, leaning closer. “Listen, science boy, if you’re interested in bondage, I’d be glad to give you two some pointers...”

Ariadne wrinkled her nose. “I really want you to be wearing one of those dog training collars — you know, the ones that give you a shock? Robert, when’s your birthday?”

Arthur met Eames’ amused gaze while his pack squabbled amiably and shrugged with a small smile. He was proud of Yusuf and Ariadne and he’d tell them so a little later. In the meantime, he was feeling very pleased and self-satisfied with the team and how things were going, and he let that curl the corners of his mouth up as he looked at Eames.

 _Smug_ , Eames mouthed at him and Arthur shrugged, letting his gaze travel down the length of Eames’ body and back up. Eames’ eyes were dark and hot when Arthur looked back up. Abruptly, he remembered that they were in the middle of the dining hall.

“Oi!” Drake said suddenly, and Arthur looked over to find him pointing at Robert. “No ganging up on me!”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Ariadne, help me out. Is there some rule or something against it?”

“Nope. Matter of fact, I think it should happen more often. He’s gotta learn the pecking order somehow, right?”

“Listen, you wee imp...”

“Time to go to class,” Robert said firmly, tucking a smile away. “Drake?”

Drake glared at him. “I know what you’re doing.”

“And you’re going to let me.”

Drake’s shoulders sagged. “God help me, so I am.” He dragged himself to his feet so dramatically that Eames broke into spontaneous applause. “Sod off, _sir_.” He trudged out of the dining room in Robert’s serene wake as Ariadne womanfully muffled her giggling behind her hands and Yusuf smirked openly.

“You two,” Arthur said with a smile. “Well done this morning. Really.”

Yusuf looked very pleased with himself as he tugged Ariadne to her feet and laid an arm over her shoulders. “See you at the gym after classes?”

Arthur nodded and waved them off, looking back at Eames for a very brief second before staring down at his now-cold coffee. He heard the tiniest sigh from Eames before he announced clearly, “Darling, you and your friends are a right circus. Ta for the entertainment, pet.”

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur muttered into his cup, not trusting himself to meet Eames’ eyes again right now. As much as he’d needed the full night’s sleep, right now he could only think about the hungry look Eames would give him if Arthur were to sink to his knees, an anticipatory smirk curving that sensuous mouth. It wasn’t helping the fit of his trousers right now. He took a sip of the cold coffee and grimaced, glancing up to watch Eames walk away.

Richardson strode in to the dining room, looking furious, and a sub-plan hatched itself in Arthur’s head to cover both the annoyance of Richardson and a minor worry he’d been having about Maurice Fischer recognizing him from the picture circulated with the reward.

He leaned back in his chair arrogantly, tilting it back on two legs, and waited until Richardson had spotted him. He let a smug smirk cross his face for just a flash and then tucked it away under a bland look.

Richardson, predictably, took the bait and stormed over, shoving Arthur’s shoulder so that the chair tipped backwards. Arthur rode it down, tucking his chin into his chest to be sure his head didn’t hit anything and then pushed back up to his feet, wincing theatrically as he touched the back of his head.

“ _Richardson!_ ” Eames roared, and Arthur didn’t have to fake a slight stagger as that deep angry bellow sent an electric surge up his spine.

Every eye in the room was on them as Eames strode over to grab the collar of Richardson’s blazer. “Darling, take yourself to see the nurse, right now.” When Arthur opened his mouth to protest, Eames pointed one finger at him and then at the door. “ _Now_ , Arthur Darling. And you and I,” he said to Richardson with a tiny vicious shake, “will stroll down to the Head Master’s office so we can have a little chat, won’t we?”

Richardson protested weakly as Eames all but frog-marched him out of the dining hall.

Arthur sat back down in one of the chairs, rubbing at the back of his head with surreptitious pressure, trying to create a slight redness under his hair for when he saw Nurse Tildy. He heard the footsteps coming up behind him and managed a little jump as if startled when a hand touched his shoulder.

“Easy there, Arthur.” It was one of Richardson’s crew, Rhys Griffiths. He wasn’t one of those who’d been in Robert’s hallway; he was a quiet and beautiful young man with elegant almond-shaped eyes that Arthur otherwise remembered mostly from being in the background.

“What do you want, Griffiths?”

“Just thought I’d give you a hand to the nurse like Mr Eames ordered.”

“I don’t need to go to the nurse, it’s nothing,” Arthur said, bringing his hand up to touch the back of his head again as if he couldn’t help it.

“Well, I’d not like to have Mr Eames barking at me after I’d gotten even a little knock on my head, so maybe just let Nurse Tildy have a glance, yeah?”

Arthur sighed, giving in reluctantly, and rose to his feet.

He walked into the nurse’s office with his hand cupping the back of his head and a little wince squinting one eye. Nurse Tildy was immediately on her feet and coming around to take a look.

“And what happened to you this time, young man?”

“It was nothing...” he started to say.

Griffiths broke in. “He was pushed backwards in a chair and hit his head.”

“I don’t even have a bump.”

“Tch, let me just see,” the nurse clucked. “Ah well, it’s red, all right, but no great lump or bruising. I’ll just be checking your eyes and such though, so stay put a moment.” She shone a light in his eyes to compare his pupils, had him stand and walk from one end of the office to the other, and tested his grip and hand/eye coordination. “Headache, blurry vision, sensitivity to sound or light, irritability?”

“Very mild headache is all,” Arthur replied. “Probably more from the fuss than anything.”

The nurse crossed her arms under her ample chest. “I’d say you should take it easy the rest of the day and let me know if any other symptoms occur. I’ll inform the faculty you’ll be out today.” Her gaze sharpened. “And now you’ll be telling me what actually happened so I can do my paperwork properly.”

“I fell,” Arthur said shortly, looking away. He hoped Griffiths would feel the urge to fill in the details.

Nurse Tildy reached out and tapped the healing cut on his lip. “Just as you ‘bumped into something’ for this little injury?” She turned to Griffiths. “He was pushed, you said?”

Griffiths frowned at Arthur. He’d been an onlooker for the first altercation with Richardson and was clearly surprised that Arthur had downplayed the incident. “Richardson shoved him over in his chair in the dining hall,” he told the nurse. “Mr Eames dragged him off to the Head’s office and ordered Arthur here.” He took a deep breath. “And it was Richardson for that, too,” he said, gesturing at Arthur’s mouth. Arthur shook his head at Griffiths, but the young man ignored him, to Arthur’s well-hidden delight. “Richardson’s ring caught him when he took a swipe at Arthur.”

The nurse’s eyebrows rose. “Well, doesn’t that paint a different picture? And I’m thanking you, young Griffiths. Can you see this stoic twit back to his room?”

“I’ll do that, yes,” Griffiths said, and stubbornly and silently accompanied Arthur all the way back to his dorm room, though Arthur’d had no intention of going there. He walked just to the side and a little behind Arthur, in a position to catch him if he stumbled, but Arthur felt the weight of his considering gaze the whole way.

At his door, he turned to find Griffiths shifting closer to him than was normally considered polite distance. Arthur took him in at a glance— about his height, trim and clean-limbed, with an anxious intent in his eyes as he raised graceful fingers to touch Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur very gently caught his wrist before he made contact.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Griffiths whispered. “I’ll do whatever you like.”

Arthur looked down the corridor both ways but couldn’t see anyone watching. He looked back at Griffiths who was now openly nervous, worrying his bottom lip in his teeth.

“Inside,” Arthur said, pulling him into the room by the wrist and locking the door behind them. “Now what is this...stop that!”

Griffiths had walked over to stand next to Arthur’s bed and was in the process of unbuttoning his trousers. At Arthur’s words, he paused and gave him an uncertain look. “Was it my mouth you’re after wanting, then?” He sank to his knees with grace, settling his hands on his thighs and waiting, wary but with a faint eagerness evident in his eyes.

Arthur rubbed his face wearily. “Look... We need to talk about this. Will you sit on the chair, please?”

He waited until the young man had taken a seat on the edge of the chair before sitting on his own bed. “Now I’m not about to believe you’ve been suddenly overcome with helpless lust, so maybe explain to me what’s going on right now.”

Griffiths gave him a smile that combined shy and wry. “Not _helpless_ lust, no. I’m offering myself, and my services, in exchange for...protection.”

“Protection from whom? You’re part of Richardson’s crew, well, ex-crew maybe.” Arthur watched him carefully.

“No,” Griffiths ducked his head. “I was Eric’s...Richardson’s, not... Look, that bunch, it’s mostly lads whose fathers work together for Fischer or one of the associated companies. My da, he...so he’s only still got a job at Fischer-Morrow because he’s got stuff on some of the others, so of course their sprats won’t have anything to do with me. I’m poison even though I’ve not seen nor talked to my da in years and never intend to, the bastard. I’m only here because he insisted, through his lawyers, that I attend a ‘proper’ school. And my mum...” Griffiths twisted his fingers together and frowned. “She’s never been able to fight him on much of anything, even after he left us for a more ‘appropriate’ woman to wear on his arm.”

Griffiths sighed and peered at Arthur through the straight dark hair that fell over his eyes before running a hand through it. “Ariadne said I’d need to be honest with you, but I admit I’d hoped you’d settle for less.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and waited.

Griffiths’ shoulders slumped. “My da knocked up a Japanese woman from a well-to-do family on a business trip and had to marry her or he’d have lost the company all face with the Tokyo branch of the business. He brought her back to Wales when she didn’t speak more than a few words of English because he’s a right bastard. The controlling prick wouldn’t even let her choose my first name, no, but fuck him anyway, I go by my middle name, Tadashi.”

He lifted his chin as if he expected Arthur to make a comment. “He ran off with a fluffy blonde piece of arm candy when I was ten. So there I was, half-Japanese half-Welsh, son of a Fischer-Morrow executive and therefore associated with that bunch, but since it was obvious I was on the outs with them, that meant I was fair game for the other kids in school who fear and hate them.” His mouth twisted. “Didn’t help that at the same time I was discovering I liked boys as much as if not more so than girls.”

He looked down again, shoulders hunching at some memory. “My mum had me taught some martial arts, but it’s never the physical bullying that’s the worst, is it?”

He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Well. Then Eric Richardson...I think his father and mine are in on something together, so...he made me an offer that would keep me in the group, and made it stick with the others, so long as I indulged his little...propensities.” Griffiths shrugged and looked at Arthur. “Now that Eric’s on the outs, I’m...not welcome. Again.”

Arthur had set his elbow on a knee and covered his mouth with his hand, tapping a finger against his cheek as he listened. “And you figured ‘To the victor go the spoils’?”

Griffiths gave him a little sideways look. “Is there some world where that isn’t the case?”

Arthur waved that aside as he stood up and paced the perimeter of the room. “Richardson’s got a girlfriend.”

Griffiths snorted. “Eric’s got an eye for his public image and a lust for power. Arabella’s gorgeous but she’s from a newer up-and-coming family and likes the Richardson money and influence enough to put up with Eric’s other shortcomings, including his power games. She knows I’m just one of his power games. She’s smart, her, and she’ll probably be jumping ship soon, but then she’s got all sorts of options open to _her_.”

Griffiths closed his teeth with a click, like he was biting back the bitterness. “I just...want to stay under the radar until I graduate and don’t have to follow my da’s orders. I don’t have power and wealth like Fischer or the rest of that bunch, so being under someone’s protection is a necessity. And all I have to offer in exchange is a talented mouth and a bit of a submission kink, so...”

He took in Arthur’s frown and crossed arms and sighed. “Jesus, I’ve gone and fucked this all to hell, haven’t I?” He got to his feet and headed for the door. “Look, just...forget I said anything, will you?”

“Sit back down,” Arthur said gently, but with a steely thread of authority underneath. Griffiths blinked, then went back to the chair and dropped into it, staring at him. Arthur sat back on his bed, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. “Tell me what you’re good at, what you like doing,” he ordered. “Not your sexual skills,” he added with a dismissive flick of his fingers that was softened by his faint smile.

“Oh, I...I’m really good with computers,” Griffiths offered.

“In what way?”

“I’m good at finding things out, on the quiet, research...”

“Are you a hacker?” Arthur asked sharply.

Griffiths’ chin went up a bit. “Yeah,” he said, proudly but warily. “I’m a fucking stellar hacker.”

Arthur gestured to Griffiths’ messenger bag. “Give me your laptop.”

“You what?”

“I’ll need to see what’s running.”

“I’m not giving you my laptop,” he said firmly.

“All right, what’s your handle?”

Griffiths bared his teeth. “Which one?”

Arthur laughed. “Which one has the strongest rep?”

“None of them. I’m interested in information, not street cred.”

“Unusual answer,” Arthur said with a quick nod, hiding his surge of excitement. “Fine, will you look someone up for me?”

Griffiths was watching him with a guarded calculation. “You into this?”

Arthur smirked. “I’ve done a bit of hacking, yeah.”

“So this is a test or something?” He slowly drew his laptop out of his bag.

Arthur couldn’t help the grin. “You’re a careful one,” he said, nodding at Griffiths’ spotless laptop. “No stickers?”

Now in his element, Griffiths gave him a disdainful look even as he ran affectionate fingertips over the worn but clean surface. “Should I advertise I’m a hacker to people who didn’t trust me to begin with? Anyway, I don’t like to give anything away if I can help it.”

“Fair.” Arthur scribbled a name on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Tell me what you find out about this person.”

“Everything I find?”

“General conclusions.”

Griffiths started tapping at the keys, looked up again. “How long do I have?”

“Until you have a general conclusion.” Arthur pulled out his phone and started playing a video game, interspersing levels with texts to Dom.

**_Keep an eye on the test account_ **

**Setting a trap?**

**_Skills assessment_ **

**Arthur**

**_Just let me know how many flags trip_ **

**WE ARE NOT RECRUITING MORE KIDS FROM FISCHER-MORROW’S OWN HATCHING GROUNDS**

Arthur made a clean run through the next level of the video game, racking up bonus speed points and unlocking a new weapon.

**ARTHUR**

He kept an eye on Tadashi Griffiths as the young man typed quickly, eyes flicking across his laptop screen.

**DAMMIT ARTHUR**

A slow smile spread across Griffiths’ face as he worked, then he frowned, then scowled fiercely. Arthur went back to his video game, clearing the next level.

**CJ says two flags tripped**

Arthur looked up from his phone as Griffiths made a slight growling noise and then he flashed a roguish grin at Arthur as he started typing faster.

**Wait - no, only one flag...wtf? Arthur...**

Arthur put his phone down with a smile. “Get out of the system before you get hacked back,” he advised.

Griffiths laughed and flipped the wifi switch off on his laptop before stretching his arms overhead. “You want my general conclusion?” Arthur gestured for him to continue. “That was a test account on a honeypot system with just enough reporting to trace it back to a shadowy group that calls itself the Company, which seems to do mostly mercenary work and protection. So I’d guess you’re not a schoolboy after all — this is some cover for an operation that’s going on that involves Fischer-Morrow. Do you have to kill me now?”

Arthur snorted. “I’d rather offer you a job.”

Griffiths looked at him with hope shining in his eyes and set his laptop aside before sliding to his knees in front of Arthur and reaching for Arthur’s trousers.

“Hey, no,” Arthur said, catching his hands. “Tadashi. That’s not any requirement of this.”

Griffiths bit his lip, then grinned. “If you take me in, that’s what everyone will assume anyway. You might as well have the benefit.”

“I don’t care what people will assume,” Arthur said gently. “And, no offense, but I don’t want you for sex. Your skills and your future are much more enticing to me, and my protection doesn’t come with a price.”

“I...don’t know what to make of you, Arthur.”

“I get that a lot. Now come with me, I want to catch Ariadne between classes before I run some other errands.”

Ariadne came out of her class with a worried look which cleared the instant she spotted Arthur down the hallway. She ran over and threw herself at him in a fierce hug. “All the talk is that Richardson attacked you and you had to go to the nurse!”

Arthur smiled down at her as he patted her back. “He pushed my chair over and I bumped the back of my head. Nothing to worry about.”

She scowled up at him. “As if I won’t worry.” Then her face clouded over again. “Arthur,” she whispered. “Arabella, Richardson’s girlfriend?” Arthur nodded. “She’s going to distance herself from him. She says he’s lost his head and is no further use to her and her family. And I know that’s pretty mercenary of her, but that’s kind of what that whole group is like so who could expect better of her?” Arthur raised his eyebrow. “But anyway, she’s worried about Richardson’s...umm... _companion_ Griffiths, and so am I. You don’t know about him, I think, but...”

Arthur turned sideways with her and reached out a hand to Tadashi, who’d been standing behind him, conscious of all the eyes on them in the hallway. He stepped closer and Arthur put a hand on his shoulder with a little squeeze and a reassuring smile.

“ _Tadashi!_ ” Ariadne shrieked joyfully and threw herself at him.

He laughed and hugged her back. “Sweet of you to worry, Ari, but I reached out on my own,” he whispered.

“Of course we worried, you big dumb git. I’ve been telling you...”

“I know you have,” he said gently. “But I really didn’t have any options until now, did I?”

She twisted her mouth unhappily. “Well, we’ve got you now. And Richardson better not try anything.”

Tadashi sighed. “I doubt it’ll go smoothly, but we’ll see.”

Arthur lowered his voice so that only Tadashi and Ariadne could hear him. “Richardson’s becoming a problem and I mean to take care of it. I want you both, and Yusuf, to stay far away from him until then, okay? Even if it means it looks like you’re running away.”

Tadashi looked confused but Ariadne nodded sharply. “Allow him no opportunity to make contact. Got it.”

Arthur looked down at her with pride. “I couldn’t do this without you, Ariadne.”

“Damn skippy,” she agreed, pink with pleased delight.

He grinned at her and headed about his errands.


	13. Still Tuesday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is not the best wingman to Dom but is absolutely the best older brother to Tadashi and they all go into a dream for the first time (Eames forges! Ariadne builds!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Trevor and the Tall Guy from seat 31E!
> 
> [Explanatory Tumblr post ^_^](https://stormofsharpthings.tumblr.com/post/190560266312/on-my-knees-i-think-clearer)
> 
> .

**Still Tuesday Next**

As his first stop, Arthur stopped by the guest quarters, but, when he raised his hand to knock at Dom’s door, he heard Mal’s rich laugh inside. He smiled and knocked anyway.

When Dom opened the door, Arthur leaned in and shook his head at Mal. “Fair warning that he’s insane.”

“Hey!” Dom protested.

“And I’m judging you for your taste,” Arthur continued.

“Oh Arthur,” she chuckled, “having seen _your_ taste, I feel you have forfeited your right to judge.”

“Mmmm. We’ll have to agree to disagree, I guess. But what about Saito? At least Saito has some class.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Dom objected, shoving his shoulder.

Mal shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “One can grow tired of filet mignon.”

“Surely there’s something between that and potluck potato chip hamburger casserole.”

“I have a gun,” Dom announced. “On me. Within easy reach of my hand.”

Arthur leaned away from him. “Jesus, Dom, I really don’t want to be part of your sex games...”

“And it is a sad thing that I do not know what this ‘potluck potato chip hamburger casserole’ is.” Mal pronounced all the syllables as if it were a code. “Though I admit it does not sound so appetizing...“

Dom grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside while Mal snickered. “Make whatever it is fast,” Dom ordered with a growl.

“Okay. We have a slight problem with a student named Richardson but I’m going to take care of it and I need you to stay out of it,” he said, nodding to Dom.

Dom frowned. “Related to this business,” he made a circle in the air encompassing the group, “or personal?”

“Personal,” Arthur said with a grimace. “This was from before; he took me for a threat to his power and has made some spectacularly stupid choices since. It’s just that he _will_ end up interfering in the operation if I don’t put a stop to it.”

“Okay, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

“And I’ll need a background run on a Rhys Tadashi Griffiths.”

“Your interview today?”

“I was impressed. He’s fast, and I need to know if he’s as good at staying unknown as he says. If he passes, I’d like him to start investigating Maurice Fischer. To do the research I can’t right now.”

Mal frowned. “Griffiths... Richardson’s catamite?”

“His _what_?” Dom was startled and disapproving.

Arthur winced. “Not a word I’d have chosen, but essentially yes. He approached me this afternoon, looking for protection since Richardson has sabotaged his own power base. Ariadne sent him my way.”

Mal looked thoughtful. “I know of nothing negative about him save that he associates with Richardson.” Her eyes narrowed as she considered. “He is adept at avoiding notice, that one.”

Arthur nodded. “He has a lot of potential and has been navigating a tricky social minefield in the best way he knew how. Not the path I’d have necessarily chosen, but...” He shrugged.

Dom was already sending a text with the information. “Anything else?”

“Nope. See you in the gym after classes,” Arthur said with a grin as he headed for the door. “We’ll start planning this...thing. Until then...” He made a gesture between Dom and Mal that was only vaguely obscene and escaped out the door as Dom made a move toward his gun.

He cornered Robert Fischer next, dragging him from a hallway into an empty classroom.

“Rhys Tadashi Griffiths,” Arthur said, watching Robert’s face.

Robert grimaced. “That’s a...fraught situation. If you’ve a suggestion for breaking him free of Richardson, I’d love to hear it.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Should he be free?”

“Arthur!” Robert glared at him. “This is honestly the first time I’ve been disappointed by you.”

“I think you’re jumping the gun a little,” Arthur said, suppressing a smile. “Do you trust him?”

Robert frowned. “I don’t know him well enough to say absolutely yes, but I know he’s only with Richardson because that gave him a safe space. I...offered to take him in, _without_ the sexual favors, but he was afraid his father would try to make use of an advantage like that. His father’s a complete piece of crap and Tadashi has to protect his mother.”

“Did you know he’s got hacking skills that nation states would fight over?” At Robert’s stunned look, Arthur finally smiled. “He approached me today and I’m taking him in, _also_ without the sexual favors. That lad has some serious potential.”

Robert grinned at him. “I should’ve trusted that you had the situation in hand.”

“Mmm. I’m also going to be removing Richardson as a threat. I can’t have him sneaking around causing issues with our operation.”

“I was going to talk to you about him. He’s threatened to talk to my father about my ‘questionable choices’ unless I support him in a bid to regain power here.”

“Stay away from him as much as possible. Keep Drake away from him. I’ve already warned Araidne and Tadashi, and she’ll let Yusuf know.”

Robert nodded. “You’ll be careful?”

“Between Richardson and I, you’re worried about me? I think I’m offended.”

Robert made an impatient gesture. “You’re not going to kill Richardson, which limits how safe your actions will be.”

Arthur grinned. “I’m aiming to get him suspended. Just stay clear - you’re going to want deniability.”

Robert gave him a thoughtful look and nodded. “I’ll tell Marc.”

Eames wasn’t in his office when Arthur stopped by, and he knew Eames didn’t have any classes at this hour. Arthur bit his lip; there wasn’t much time before they needed to meet everyone at the gym but he headed for Eames’ room anyway.

He knocked quietly on the door, and was watching the hallway when it opened behind him. He didn’t even have a chance to turn around before being yanked into the room, and then Eames was checking him over with a fierce scowl.

“Hey, c’mon, you knew I wasn’t really hurt,” Arthur protested gently, pulling Eames’ face in close to kiss him.

Eames made a disgruntled noise against Arthur’s mouth and bit at his bottom lip. “Apparently there’s a difference between knowing it and not ripping open a boy’s abdomen because he attacked you like that.”

Arthur held his face and dimpled at him. “I don’t mind telling you that I just about came in my pants when you roared like that.”

“Oh _really_?” A leer slid sideways across Eames’ face and he waggled his eyebrows.

“Yes, it was distracting as all hell. _You’re_ distracting as all hell.”

“As if you have room to talk, darling,” Eames murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against the corner of Arthur’s jaw.

Arthur made a rough sound deep in his throat and arched his neck. Eames slid a hand up to tangle in his hair and tug his head further back, tracing the tip of his tongue down the line of the tendon and roughly tugging Arthur’s tie open and unbuttoning his shirt to gain access to the sensitive hollow between his collarbones.

He growled against the soft skin there. “You have no idea how tempting it is to leave my marks all over your throat.”

“I might have some idea,” Arthur breathed, fighting not to push his hips forward. “God, Eames, stop. We need to go meet in the gym.”

Eames growled again, snapping his teeth shut savagely just above Arthur’s skin. “Then tonight you’re coming back here and I’m going to fucking ravish you.”

Arthur laughed breathlessly. “I’ll pencil it in.”

Eames huffed and took a step back, his heavy gaze dragging over Arthur like a physical touch. “Sort yourself out, darling,” he rasped, brushing his fingers over Arthur’s undone collar and tie. “I’ll meet you there.” And he turned and strode out of his room.

Arthur leaned his forehead against the wall for a moment, consciously evening out his breathing before buttoning up his shirt and knotting his tie. Then he slipped cautiously out into the hallway and made his way to the gym.

Eames was already there, of course, talking quietly with Mal while Dom and Saito conferred over a laptop. Drake and Robert showed up right after him, and Araidne and Yusuf, with Tadashi in tow, followed a bare five minutes later.

Tadashi gave Saito a startled look, moving to hover behind Arthur, and then shifting even closer when Dom strode over purposefully, Saito following with an interested, almost predatory, expression.

“A word in your delicate shell-like ear, Arthur,” Dom rumbled, gesturing to the side.

He gave Dom an exasperated look and cast Saito a warning one, at which the businessman inclined his head slightly before turning his attention back to Tadashi.

Arthur touched Tadashi on the shoulder and heard the young man suck in a quick breath before Arthur stepped over to Dom. Too far away to hear their soft voices, Arthur could only watch Tadashi drop his eyes and greet Saito with an elegant correctness, his bow graceful and precise, though much less business-like and more of a gracious formality.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at them both. “What?” he demanded of Dom without looking at him.

“We were looking at the report on your boy there — he has some serious hacking skills and almost no online reputation. He’s like a ghost. Or like you. We’ve only found a few aliases and I’m sure we’ve triggered more of his canaries than we could possibly clean up. His father’s a serious flag — a treacherous blackmailing asshole, but we’ve not been able to find any contact between them for almost eight years, beyond lawyers acting as go-betweens. His mother’s in rather frail health for her age, though the medical reports make it seem more depression than aging or disease. He had some suspicious injuries as a young boy, but none since the father’s been gone. His mother’s brought in a dozen private tutors over the years, for languages, art, calligraphy, martial arts, music, and, get this, _geisha_ training.”

Arthur straightened, recognizing the progression of the dance of body language he’d been watching. “Don’t be an ugly American, Dom, there’ve been male geishas since the beginning of the tradition. And they’re not whores,” he snapped, striding back over to where Saito was practically purring over Tadashi’s reserved deference.

And where Tadashi was practically preening under the attention even though not a single touch had been exchanged.

Arthur gritted his teeth. “Your pardon for the interruption...”

Tadashi laughed softly. “I’ll just go talk to Robert, shall I?” And he walked off with a graceful ease, aware of their eyes but not making a show of it.

“Exquisite,” Saito murmured.

“Underage,” Arthur snarled.

Saito gave him a coolly amused look. “It may interest you to know that the general age of consent in Japan is thirteen.” The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly as he took in Arthur’s disapproval. “Although it is true that some cities do specify eighteen within their local area. Arthur, I am distressed that you seem to regard me as some sort of ravening beast about to devour his innocence.”

“I know very little about you, Mr Saito,” he replied stiffly.

Saito barked a laugh. “Ah, I have truly offended, have I not? He tells me you have taken him into your protection and it is clear that you take that very seriously, especially given the previous person from whom you are sheltering him.” Saito gave him a shrewd look. “He reminds you somewhat of yourself at a younger age, perhaps, with a similar set of skills and challenges, yes? And so, once asked, you will defend him as you would a younger sibling.”

He and Arthur both looked over to where Tadashi was explaining something to Robert and Drake, wearing a wry look at Drake’s obvious mirth while Robert shook his head and rolled his eyes. “He is a most precious treasure, Arthur,” Saito said softly. “Will you allow me to explain my intended actions?”

Arthur looked at him sidelong. “I’m listening.”

“He would be immensely valuable for his technical expertise alone, of course. I would have offered him a position simply based on the skills detailed in the report from your people. But that his mother, brilliant woman, thought to cultivate him in such a way... He is a rare jewel and deserves only the finest setting.”

“He would be hāfu (half-breed),” Arthur said bluntly, crossing his arms. “Hardly a desireable status in Japan.”

“While there is an unpleasant truth to that,” Saito said with a slight nod, “there are shadings that create vast differences. Though it is entirely an unfair concept, his Japanese heritage is more than visible enough to allow him to pass with ease, and his comportment and speech are so near flawless that no one would question them. It is a failing in the culture of my country but it is not one that need apply to him. But even so, even did he look entirely a foreigner, I would do everything in my power to see that he would not experience such prejudice.”

“You can’t change what people think.”

Saito turned fully to face him and gave Arthur a slow dangerous smile. “Ah, but Arthur, I have a _vast_ amount of power and wealth. People will absolutely change their behaviour for me at the slightest implication that I am, or possibly might be, displeased. And that power has other uses, as well. For instance, I have more than enough power to see his mother safe in Japan, tomorrow, with the care she needs, forever out of any reach of the boy’s father.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “And what would you demand in return?”

“Again, you mistake my intentions. Safety for his mother, an excellent job, _acceptance_ of what he is and wishes to be... this in exchange for his best efforts during his employment. And if, when he is of age _within a few short months,_ he finds he also desires a mutually enjoyable personal relationship, then he and I shall negotiate that without any outside assistance at that time. Is that clear enough for you, oniisama (honored older brother)?” Though his tone was low and even, there was a growing sharpness underlying Saito’s words.

Arthur, unimpressed, crossed his arms.

Tadashi walked back over, failing to entirely suppress a smile as he looked between them. “What, my nakōdo-san (matchmaker), have the terms of my sale proven unacceptable?” Tadashi asked Arthur, eyes bright with merriment.

“Did you _want_ to be sold?”

“Saito-sama has made a very generous offer of employment and will also assure the immediate relocation and well-being of my mother. What more could I possibly desire?” His serene mask did not quite cover his yearning hunger as he glanced at Saito.

Saito had far more control over his expression, but the glance he returned was eloquent before he tucked it away. “Your oniisan (older brother) no doubt wishes to speak with you.” He looked at Arthur with a calmer amusement. “I shall go reassure Mr Cobb that you have not single-handedly angered me into abandoning the operation.”

Arthur huffed and glanced over at Dom, who did indeed look somewhat constipated. “If I thought any part of you, including your ego, was that fragile, I wouldn’t allow you to participate in this operation, Mr Saito.” He looked back to meet Saito’s eyes steadily. After a moment, the businessman’s shoulders relaxed minutely and he inclined his head, then he nodded at Tadashi and walked over to a very jittery Dom.

Arthur turned back to Tadashi, opening his mouth, but was enveloped in a tight hug before he could get anything out.

“You’ve only known me for a few hours,” Tadashi said into his shoulder. “Why are you being so wonderful to me?“

Arthur sighed and returned the embrace. “I’ve only known you a few hours and I can already tell you deserve to be considered wonderful. And that you’re going to be all kinds of trouble. I’m not going to stand in the way of something you want, kiddo, I’m just poking the bear to see if he’s worthy of _you_.”

Tadashi squeezed him again, hiding his face. “Arthur, he’s something I want very very badly,” his voice low and velvety.

“Hey, no drooling on me.” Arthur was rewarded with a dirty snicker. “Jesus, _I_ didn’t know much about domination and submission at seventeen.”

Tadashi gave him a last squeeze and stepped back with a grin. “Oniisan (Older brother), I had a couple of _very_ good tutors.”

“Okay, whoa, tmi, let’s get on with the planning for this operation.”

Arthur sat down next to Eames while Mal and Dom moved to set up some equipment on a small table. Eames didn’t look at him, but he leaned toward Arthur and murmured, “Just want you to know, you staring down Saito was hot as fuck.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. “Not helpful at the moment.”

“Oh by all means, let’s save it for a better time.”

“Eames.”

Dom cleared his throat loudly. “We should get started.” He waited until everyone had taken a seat before touching the wooden box that looked like it held medical equipment. “Years ago, the American military started a program...”

“Non!” Mal interrupted. “Dom, we agreed to give them no preconceptions.”

Dom rubbed his chin and frowned. “But they’ll need to have _some_ explanation.”

“If I may?” Mal asked. Dom nodded, still frowning, and she lightly touched the edge of the box. “This machine is called a PASIV device. The letters stand for Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous. PASIV. Somnacin is the name of the drug that allows us to share a dream. This device dispenses the drug intravenously to all the dreamers with a timer that shuts it off at the appropriate time, unless superseded by the person monitoring the process. There is an emergency cutoff for that.” She smiled at Yusuf, who nodded seriously.

“The time in the shared dream does not run with the clock in the waking world,” she continued. “It is greatly expanded, though the exact ratio depends upon the formulation of Somnacin used. I will tell you nothing about being in the dream itself other than the fact that it is quite malleable. You must see what you can make of it once you are there.”

“Are we doing that?” Ariadne asked, nervous and excited. “Today?”

“Yes,” Mal said with a very small smile. “This particular device can only accommodate eight dreamers, so for now, Yusuf will stay awake to monitor us, and Tadashi will keep watch for intruders and send or drive them away.”

Tadashi blinked at being included and then grinned and nodded. Dom went to a cabinet and pulled out some mats, laying them out on the floor around the table with the PASIV.

As each person chose a mat and laid down, Mal or Dom moved to them and set up an IV line, and then Mal and Yusuf conferred briefly over some vials before placing them inside the case. Arthur made a mental note to discuss the workings of the device — he hated not understanding such an important piece of their operation — as he watched Dom and Mal hook themselves up, and then Yusuf reached into the PASIV.

Arthur took a sip of his excellent coffee and set the simple white cup back in to the saucer with a little sigh while Eames settled back into the chair across from him, cradling his cup and staring out at the ocean, his feet up on the carved wooden railing, well-worn boots just poking out from under the shade of the awning stretched out over the café patio.

Ariadne came walking up the steep stone steps that curved between the whitewashed buildings and the café, Drake trailing her and offering to carry her piggyback to compensate for her ‘wee weary imp pins’ and Ariadne telling him cheerfully to go stuff himself under a pier.

Saito and Robert were standing, talking quietly, on a flat rooftop not too far away, both with their hands tucked into the small of their back and staring down the hillside full of stepped buildings into the harbour below.

Distant sailing ships glided gracefully across the bay, the water crystal clear from the pale teal that lapped around the wooden docks to a pleasing cerulean as the harbour deepened and finally to a rich cobalt further out. Arthur could see the bottom almost all the way, sandy with stone outcroppings that he realized were sections of an ancient sunken city - broken columns and temples and portions of cobbled roads and jagged fragments of winding walls that echoed the curving and spiraling streets of the Mediterranean hill town that rose above the waves.

Arthur reached for his coffee again, troubled, knowing he’d forgotten something important, and found his fingers tangling with Eames’. He looked over and found the same disturbance on the thief’s face and abruptly remembered. “Dream,” he said in relief.

It was a delight to watch Eames’ face clear and a crooked smile spread there. “This...is bloody impressive.”

Arthur turned to look over his shoulder where Dom and Mal were sitting at their table, watching them all alertly. He remembered Mal saying that the dream could be changed and so he tried something small, changing their coffee to tea. He took a sip and smiled at Eames, watching as the forger blinked at the change in aroma rising from his cup. Then Eames grinned and the cup in his hand changed to a delicate glass with a small quantity of clear liquid. “Ouzo,” he said, raising the glass in a salute before sipping. “And a damn fine one, at that.”

Ariadne was leaning on the café wall and watching with delight. Robert and Saito came wandering over, their Western business suits gradually morphing to traditional Japanese clothing — kimono, hakama, haori. From Robert’s amused glances, Arthur assumed it was Saito’s doing, though the man’s serene expression gave nothing away.

Drake laughed and nudged Ariadne lightly in the ribs. “So, changes. Would you be taller, you wee nuisance? Would you be a proper Amazon and put me on my arse the way you’re always threatening?”

She clapped her hands in anticipation. “Do it!”

Drake knit his brows at her and then frowned. “Not working.” He glanced aside at the purple wisteria that draped down from the roof next to them and it flushed along its branching vines and blossomed with bright morning glory flowers amid the drooping wisteria clusters.

He looked pointedly back at Ariadne. “Well, and I guess it’s just too stubborn you are. Do it your own self then, imp.”

She huffed, crossing her arms and giving him a kind of unfocused internal stare, then scowled, glaring down at herself. “It’s not happening.”

Dom stepped forward. “We’ve never had anyone in the program be able to change themselves or other people in dreams. We suspect it’s because people’s self-conceptions are just too rigid.”

A woman’s light laughter sounded then and they all turned to where Mal was staring in astonishment at Eames. Or rather, where Eames had been. In his place lounged a round and cheerful black woman wearing a bright blue patterned side-wrap and an orange and blue skirt, with a red patterned scarf wrapped around her head, covering her hair. Her brown eyes twinkled and she played with the wood and bead bangles on her wrist.

“Cobb, I suspect your problem has been the rigidity of the military people you’ve worked with.” She spoke in a very different accent than Eames’ as she wiggled her bare toes in the sunlight, admiring the flash of silver as delicate rings appeared on several of them. “This wasn’t difficult at all.” She flourished her painted fingernails and then grinned at Arthur. “In fact...”

Arthur blinked as, very suddenly, he was staring at himself across the table. A subtly wrong self, but...

“Hmm,” he heard something like his voice say, though he wasn’t the one speaking. “Not quite right, is it?” The doppelgänger straightened to sit more upright in the chair, one ankle crossed over a knee and the one arm resting along the edge of the table. It was the exact position Arthur had been sitting in when the dream started.

“Mon dieu (My god),” Mal whispered.

“It’s still not quite right,” Arthur said, scrutinizing Eames for a difference he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “And I don’t sound like that.”

Ariadne nodded quickly. “No, you totally do. You absolutely sound like that. _And_ look exactly like that.” The other Arthur shot her an unimpressed and supercilious glance and made a faint dubious noise before flashing a grin and winking at her. “And _move_ like that, too! Holy fuck, Eames, how are you doing it?”

“Darling,” the other Arthur said to him, “you’re used to only seeing yourself in a mirror.”

Arthur nodded, perceiving precisely what Eames meant. “That’s the difference. A non-reverse image of myself. And my voice doesn’t sound right because I’m used to hearing it through bone conduction as well.” He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully as the potential uses began to propagate through his mind. “Impressive, but also creepy as all hell. Stop it.”

A blink and it was Eames himself laughing as he sprawled back out in his chair.

“But no one has been able to do this!” Mal insisted. “It is not just the military that has been working with this process!”

Eames shrugged at her with a lazy grin. “Seems simple enough to me. And ease up, Ari, you’ll pop if you keep straining that hard.”

“Ooooh!” Ariadne exclaimed in frustration. “That’s just not _fair!_ ”

Drake pulled her over into a rough hug and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “So change something else, GPS.” He turned her to face away from the group.

Ariadne scowled, glaring out at the harbour and ships and the ocean beyond. And then Arthur watched the sea beginning to recede, water racing away from the shore with the sailing ships following like a flock of startled seabirds, and his eyes widened. His jaw dropped when he realized that it wasn’t the sea retreating but the land rising up, the ruins that were visible under the water’s surface now lifting above and knitting back into wholeness, temples like wet gleaming bones re-assembling themselves out of shattered blocks, roads pushing up out of the covering sands, and walls and steps curving neatly into place like a maze surrounding the now-dry harbour.

It was Eames who first managed words. “Holy fuck, indeed, Ariadne.”

Abruptly Dom had a gun and was facing down the street, where a distant shouting was coming closer rapidly. “Okay, last lesson for today, children. A dreamer’s subconscious can only take so much unexpected change before it begins to react in outrage. We populate our dreams with projections, images of people we may have seen or know in real life or ones we’ve entirely made up. What’s important is that these projections, these fragments of the dreamer’s subconscious, will attack if the dreamer begins to feel threatened.”

Drake frowned, putting Robert, and then Ariadne, behind him. “You’re saying that we’re about to be slaughtered by an angry mob? Is there any way to stop them?”

“I’d like to put a vote in for not being torn to pieces,” Eames said dryly.

“What happens if we die in a shared dream, Mr Cobb?” Saito asked in a calm voice, a pistol in hand.

Dom huffed an unamused laugh. “Well, the good news is you wake up.”

“The bad news being that we have to die first?” Robert snorted. “Surely that’s not the only way out.”

Dom grinned at him macabrely. “Normally we’d wake when the time ran out on the PASIV, but since we’re under with such a bunch of overachievers...No, I’ll kick you all out momentarily, no death required. But those with a sensitive stomach may want to look away.” And he raised the gun and shot himself in the head with it.

“ _Jesus!_ ” Ariadne shouted, hiding her face against Drake’s back just in time.

Arthur watched the corpse crumple to the ground, startled but not shocked. Dom’s body language hadn’t been suicidal or even homicidal, just...resigned. And then Ariadne simply disappeared.

“Hell of a shortcut,” Eames said as Saito and then Robert vanished as well, with Drake following right after, just as a screaming horde emerged from all directions.

Mal shrugged. “At least it is quick.” She was staring at the projections as Arthur blinked and then woke, the back of his head bouncing off the mat as Dom moved over to lift Eames’ head a few inches and drop it. He was reaching for Mal when her eyes opened and she smiled up at him.

“No need to wait once you woke everyone else,” she said, her hand twitching once, very slightly, as if holstering an imaginary gun. Dom grinned back at her, his eyes flicking down to her empty hand and back up before licking his lips.

“Hey,” Drake said sharply. “Foreplay later, explanations now.”

Saito nodded. “You said the dream would be ‘malleable.’ That seems to have gone beyond...”

“It was _amazeballs!_ ” Ariadne bounced to her feet and scrambled exuberantly over everyone to get to Yusuf, slinging herself into his embrace. “I raised an entire island out of the sea and rebuilt ruined cities just by _thinking_ about it!”

“Don’t forget triggering a ravening swarm of murderous projections trying to kill us all,” Drake added.

Yusuf’s eyebrow flicked. “So, normal stuff for you,” he said, looking down at her with a faint smile.

She smacked his shoulder, beaming. “It was _brilliant!_ Well, except for when Cobb shot himself in the head.” She cast a glare at Dom. “That was _not_ a good part, in case it wasn’t clear.”

Eames snorted. “I have to agree with Ari — aside from the bit at the end, it was marvelous and I’d like to do it again. Perhaps without the apocalyptic denouement, though.”

“You.” Mal sat up and pointed at Eames, who leaned away from her finger as if it were loaded. “Ariadne, ma chère (my dear), your mastery over the dream was beyond impressive, and we will speak more about it soon. But _you_ ,” she pointed again at Eames. “ _You_ have done what was thought to be impossible!”

“The only one, am I?” Eames’ tone was careless, but Arthur could tell he was pleased under the insouciant mask.

“Once a forger...” Arthur remarked dryly. Eames flashed him a cocky grin.

Robert cleared his throat delicately. “I’d like to hear some background and perhaps some explanations, please.”

Arthur mentally winced when Dom pulled out the whiteboard from where it had been stashed and prepared himself to sit through one of Dom’s epic lectures. At least they’d have to break for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> hāfu (half-breed)  
> oniisama (honored older brother)  
> nakōdo-san (matchmaker, a broker for miai - traditional arranged marriage)  
> oniisan (older brother)  
> Mon dieu (My god)  
> ma chère (my dear)


	14. Still Still Tuesday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is more dream training, wherein Drake possibly learns not to rile old folk; Arthur and Eames are interrupted by early arrivals; and Mal and Yusuf handle the Nash situation.

**Still Still Tuesday Next**

After dinner, they practiced more in the dream, swapping in Yusuf and Tadashi for Saito and Drake.

Yusuf did not care for being in dreamspace, saying he felt uneasy, as if the ground underfoot was unstable and the air too thick to breathe properly. Awake, he and Mal spent some time, heads together, discussing adjustments to the Somnacin formula that might make a difference.

Tadashi took to it with an even more terrifying glee than Ariadne, turning sharp and alert, like a living weapon unsheathed before a battle. He and Arthur and Eames and Drake spent some time exploring the limits of the projections with either Dom or Mal as the dreamer, shooting each other out of the dreams as messy death became inevitable.

“I understand why the military wanted to use this as training,” Arthur told Dom as they stood watching Tadashi and Drake clear a street while Eames kept watch on a nearby rooftop. “But I can also see how they fucked it up. After awhile, I’d think you’d need some way to tell what was dream and what was reality.”

Dom nodded. “And dying over and over again doesn’t really make you used to it. Pain is in the mind, after all. But when you start to look at dying as the easy way out...”

“All these rules and restrictions.” Arthur leaned on the windowsill. “These are dreams, Dom. Why are there limits on what we can do within them?”

Dom shrugged. “You’d have hated all the cheap philosophical debates that happened over just that question. My opinion? Two things - one, that this is a drug-imposed sleep and therefore not a natural dream. And two, that we are waking consciousnesses within a dream and therefore may be subconsciously imposing rules upon it. There _are_ fewer limits when we’re working with a subject who knows they’re under, but for the purposes of espionage, obviously you don’t want the subject to even suspect that.”

“Mmm.” Arthur shook his head as Drake made an ill-considered move and was forced to run from a couple of diminutive grannies who pulled machetes from their knitting bags. “He really should know better than to misjudge small women by now.”

Dom snorted. “Your Ariadne’s a firecracker, Arthur. Bright and shiny and liable to take your fingers off if you’re not careful.”

The distant sounds of Eames’ near-hysterical laughter floated across from the other rooftop as Drake ran afoul of a bus-full of elderly pensioners who chased him down the street, baying like demented hounds, as they waved aluminum canes and golf umbrellas. Tadashi was trying to climb a tree as Drake pounded towards him and not having much success as he whooped, trying to breathe and laugh and climb, all at once.

“ _Leg it_ , you arsehole!” Drake bellowed as he ran past.

Tadashi howled and managed to swing himself up just in time to avoid the front edge of the wrinkled and creepily spry pack. He clung to the upper branches with tears streaming down his cheeks while a handful of trailing senior citizens began whacking the trunk of the tree with their walkers in an attempt to shake him down.

Arthur snorted and turned to Dom, who was pinching his lips together with his fingers. “Timer’s about run out, right?” Dom nodded. “Then we’ll let Drake run. Maybe it’ll teach him more caution.” Dom shook his head. “Hey, we can hope.”

Eames was still chuckling as Arthur steered him out of the gym where Tadashi, gasping through his laughter, was attempting to explain to Ariadne, Yusuf, and Robert what had happened to Drake. “The...the false _teeth_...” was the last thing they heard as the gym door closed.

They walked outside, deep into the orchard, and Arthur pushed Eames back into one of the tree trunks, leaning against him to kiss him hungrily.

“So the foreplay worked then,” Eames mumbled against his mouth as he tugged Arthur closer.

Arthur leaned back a little to grin. “You, doing target practice from a rooftop with a rifle? Yes, you sick fuck, that worked.”

Eames laughed a little breathlessly. “That makes both of us sick fucks, you know. Good to know we’re well-matched.”

“Yes,” Arthur drawled, “because we didn’t know that already. Go. I’ll meet you in your room.”

Eames opened his door and checked the corridor with a quick glance before growling and pulling him in. Then he just picked Arthur up and tossed him onto his bed, following him down to scrabble at his clothes. Arthur’s mind blanked for a moment as a wave of sheer lust rolled over him. He’d never been handled like that and he might need to look into being ashamed of his reaction to it. Later, though. Much later. Right now, all that was important was getting both of them down to bare skin as fast as possible.

As soon as they were naked, Eames slid down, shoving Arthur’s legs apart to lay between them. At the first touch of his mouth on Arthur’s cock, Arthur’s mind blanked again and he found himself curling around Eames’ head until the thief shoved him flat, arms draped heavy over Arthur’s thighs and his hands on Arthur’s belly, holding him down. Eames hummed smugly around him as Arthur panted and and fisted the sheets, and the vibrations drove him over the edge into orgasm.

Eames mouthed him with increasing gentleness until he started to go soft and his brain came back online and he realized that Eames was grinding his hips against the bed.

“Get up here,” he said, husky, and tugged on Eames. Eames swarmed up him to kneel over his shoulders and cupped Arthur’s head while bracing his other hand on the bed. Arthur took the head of Eames’ cock into his mouth and sucked hard while Eames made shallow thrusts, groaning as Arthur’s tongue worked against the underside of the crown. Arthur cradled Eames’ testicles in one hand, fondling them delicately, mindful that Eames was sensitive there, and slid his other hand around to stroke a finger along Eames’ crack, pressing against Eames’ entrance but not pushing in. When he slid his fingers a little forward to press at Eames’ perineum, Eames came with a stutter of his hips and a rough shout.

Arthur pushed him off to the side, laughing at how Eames toppled, and then pulled him back into a full-body embrace, tucking Eames’ head under his chin and wrapping a leg over Eames’s hip while they both let their breathing settle. Eames curled an arm over Arthur’s rib age and spread his hand wide against the skin of Arthur’s back, fingers moving idly in a slight caress.

There was a staccato knock on Eames’ door, followed by a voice Arthur knew belonged to Maurice Fischer. “Mr Eames. I apologize for the late hour, but I need a word with you.”

“You didn’t lock your door,” Arthur hissed as he grabbed his phone and scooted under the heavy covers. He frantically texted Dom that Fischer had arrived early while curling up between Eames’ thighs.

The door handle rattled and Eames breathed a laugh. “Play along, darling, we’re going to have to brazen this out.” And then he moaned ecstatically before calling out “Now’s not a good time!”

Arthur buried his face against Eames’ thigh. “I can’t believe you’re trying this,” he muttered and nipped the inside of his hip, prompting a yelp from Eames as the door opened.

“Goddamnit, Fischer, when I say now’s not a good time...” Eames snarled as he wrapped his legs over Arthur under the blankets, clutching the edge to his naked chest.

“Have you got a student under there?” Nash sneered incredulously. Eames made a sudden reach for the bedside table and Arthur knew he’d snatched up his gun. “Jesus, you jumpy bastard!” Arthur heard Nash shuffle backwards. “I was only going to take a little peek. See what your taste runs to.”

“Lukas.” Maurice Fischer’s voice was disapproving.

Arthur felt Eames prod his head through the blankets. “I didn’t say stop, darling, now did I?”

Arthur snickered quietly and shifted so he could mouth the crown of Eames’ cock. If he was going to go _that_ route... He was rewarded by a pleased grunt from Eames and a huff of annoyance from Fischer.

“Mr Eames.”

“Mmm. Make it quick, Fischer. I’m not happy with you interrupting my night. Oh, hell yes, darling, just like that.” Arthur sucked gently at his balls, using one hand to stroke Eames’ length.

“You _do_ have a student under there!” Nash sounded scandalized, and Arthur chuckled as he swallowed Eames down again. “His uniform’s scattered all over the floor here! What kind of goddamned teacher _are_ you?”

Eames groaned as Arthur sucked on him, his cheeks hollowing. “Are you taking the piss, you minging berk? An extremely unwilling one, as you should well know. Sod off so I can get off.”

Arthur tried not to laugh around Eames but he couldn’t really object when Eames made a show of pushing his head down. “Pay attention to what you’re doing down there, kitten. None of this is your business.”

“ _Mr_ Eames,” Fischer said again, his voice cold and stiff with umbrage.

Arthur bobbed his head and twisted his hand around Eames’ shaft, letting his other fingers drift down to tease at Eames’ hole. Eames moaned, his body arching under Arthur.

“Jesus!” Nash exclaimed. “Mr Fischer, I think we should go...”

The door slammed behind them and Eames dropped the gun by his hip and twisted his fingers in Arthur’s hair. “Ah god, darling, don’t stop, don’t stop...ah...ah...ahr...ah...”

Arthur realized that Eames was struggling to keep from shouting his name and rewarded him by pushing two spit-slick fingers into him and stroking his prostate until he came down Arthur’s throat with an incoherent shout.

He let Eames drift on the bed while he got up to lock the door, then settled beside him and picked up his phone. Dom hadn’t texted back, not knowing whether Arthur’s phone was silenced, so he sent a quick status.

_Situation resolved, cover still in place._

Eames curled against his side and laid a hand on Arthur’s stomach, fingers circling idly. “When I took young Richardson in today, the Head Master seemed to think I needlessly interrupted a bit of playful roughhousing,” Eames said quietly.

“Mmm. I suspected something like that would be the outcome. There’s a long history of special privilege to get past but at least this laid the groundwork for the next step.”

Eames lifted his head to stare at Arthur. “The next step,” he said flatly. “As if an unprovoked physical attack isn’t enough?”

Arthur smiled at him. “It was hardly unprovoked. I just made sure no one else saw the expression I flashed at him.”

He phone vibrated and he glanced over to see that Dom had texted back. _Good._

Eames had a concerned look. “Richardson’s a problem, but I don’t think I like what I’m hearing.”

He smoothed his thumb over Eames’ bottom lip. “Then you’re definitely not going to like what I’m planning next.”

“Arthur.”

He shrugged. “He’s already threatened Robert, and I’ve given sanctuary to the kid he had fagging for him.”

Eames stared at him, going expressionless in that disturbing way. “Didn’t expect an American would even know what that is. And the schools here don’t really allow that anymore.”

Arthur smirked at him, figuring he knew what had prompted that particular facial freeze. “There’s this amazing new informational resource called “the Internet” where you can look up all sorts of astonishing things.” Eames rolled his eyes in spite of himself and Arthur kissed his scarred eyebrow before continuing. “And I said I gave him sanctuary, not that I transferred him to _my_ bed. God, Eames, what would I want with a kid, especially in some transactional way, when I’ve already got the hottest man for miles around?”

“Only miles?” Eames murmured with a quirk of a smile, relaxing against Arthur.

“Well, I admit that porn star and master criminal is a rare combination, but you’ve apparently got all these picturesque dells and hamlets about that might hide damn near anything...”

Eames snorted, splaying onto his back and pulling Arthur over him. Arthur grinned down at him and Eames reached up to stroke his cheek, his smile blooming then fading. “All right, pet, tell me what you’re planning and how I can help.”

“We’re going to remove Nash from the scene, so he won’t be a problem as far as identifying me, but I was a little concerned that Maurice Fischer might’ve become familiar with the picture of me that was sent around with the bounty. Or that Nash might’ve shown him other pictures.”

Eames went expressionless again, but Arthur was again fairly sure of the trigger this time, and didn’t feel the usual flare of panic. “Please tell me you’re not going to provoke him into attacking you in public and allow him to disfigure you.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Not permanently, no. Actually, I don’t expect him to accomplish much of anything at all - I figured I’d have to finish up the job myself before arriving at the nurse’s office.”

“There are other ways...”

“That get rid of Richardson and keep Fischer from recognizing me?”

Eames scowled. “You’re not asking me to help beat you.”

“No.” Arthur tilted his head. “I didn’t think you wanted to. Do you?”

“Not especially, pet.” Eames stroked his thumb tenderly under Arthur’s eye. “I’m just not looking forward to having you...marked so.”

Arthur grinned. “Feeling territorial?”

Eames blinked. “Buggering fuck. I am, aren’t I? Wipe that smirk off your face, Arthur.”

“It’s not a smirk, as such...”

“Not as such?” Eames raised his scarred eyebrow.

“All right, it’s a smirk. But it’s a pleased one, if that makes any difference.”

Arthur’s phone vibrated on the bedside table again and he frowned at Dom’s text. _Nash in chem lab with Mal and Yusuf. Trouble._

“Shit. Eames, I have to go.” He scrambled for his clothing.

Eames glanced at Arthur’s phone and started pulling on his own clothes.

Dom was pacing the hallway outside the chemistry lab. “I was with Mal when your text came through. She said he always stopped to see her as soon as he arrived and that she needed Yusuf to meet her in the chemistry lab. She had this unholy gleam in her eye so I followed her here, staying out of sight, and he was waiting, though he didn’t show himself immediately. He just went in a moment or so ago.”

“The observation room,” Eames said and headed down the corridor.

“The what?” Dom echoed as they followed.

Eames opened a side door and ushered them into a room full of flatscreen monitors. “Several of the classrooms have cameras, including the chemistry lab. Supposedly it’s to be able to keep track of what the students are mixing to be sure there are no accidents. Or so they know exactly what chemicals caused an injury so it can be treated faster. Bit invasive if you ask me, but then no one has. The cameras kept ‘breaking’ mysteriously in the art classroom so they stopped wasting money on replacements.”

He grinned as he tapped at a keyboard. “There we are.”

The biggest screen lit up and the view rotated to focus on one of the workbenches where Yusuf and Mal were working. Mal flicked a fast glance directly at the camera and winked infinitesimally before turning to face Nash and put her hands on her hips.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” Nash was stepping closer to her, his hands out, and she sidestepped him, moving around the workbench. He made a frustrated noise. “Mallorie, all I’m saying is that I _miss_ you. I can’t visit much when you’re not working at Fischer-Morrow.”

She tossed her head scornfully. “Which part of ‘I never wish to see you again, you bastard, why haven’t you died yet’ do you keep failing to understand?”

“Mal...” Nash drew out the syllables in a whining swoop.

Eames winced. “Dear lord, he _is_ a weasel.”

Dom grinned savagely. “She wants him dead? How convenient that we do, as well.” He was tapping at his phone.

Mal kept flouncing away as Nash talked and pleaded, leading him in circles around the work area. Eames tapped the screen, leaning forward to watch closer. “She’s setting him up for something.”

“Bah!” she shouted. “I do not want to hear any more of your shit, Lukas! Yusuf!” She snatched up a flask of clear fluid and thrust it at him. “You are here to _work_ , child, not listen to your elders.”

Yusuf reached for it as Mal stepped away, dodging Nash yet again, and raised an eyebrow at it as he set it carefully near the edge of the counter, right next to another half-full flask. As soon as Nash had his back turned, Yusuf reached into a cabinet and pulled out two respirator masks, setting them nearby.

Eames grinned at Arthur and Dom. “How much...”

“Not taking a bet on an ‘accidental’ chemical spill, Eames,” Arthur broke in, grinning back. “Dom...”

“We’ve already redirected the emergency services line. And Saito has some people who’ll show up as the response team. He said he has some ‘questions’ for Nash.”

Eames laughed. “My god, there are definite advantages to having a team, aren’t there? So Nash will disappear into the night, never more to darken our doorsteps?”

Dom just grinned, watching Mal dance Nash around the lab, pushing him further and further into wild frustration.

“ _I_ am excitable?” she shouted. “Mon dieu! You will drive me to madness! I will have _nothing_ more to do with you! Get out!” She pointed furiously at the door, taking two crucial steps backwards to allow Nash the opportunity to pound his fist on the counter, upsetting the two delicately balanced flasks and sending them crashing to the floor to mix violently.

Yusuf tossed Mal one of the respirators, pulling the other on as Nash toppled to the floor, overcome by the fumes resulting from the spill. Mal stared down at him for several crucial seconds before turning to hit the emergency button. Massive fans began sucking the contaminated air from the lab and a siren sounded. She nodded at Yusuf and they picked up Nash and carried him out of the lab.

Dom left the observation room at a run as Eames started typing frantically at the keyboard, and then Dom returned in Mal’s wake as she raced in.

“Already wiped,” Eames said, glancing up at her. “But you’ll have to come up with some excuse.”

She bared her teeth. “I will let Fischer handle that.” And she ran back out to where Yusuf waited with Nash’s unconscious body.

“Come,” Eames said regally, wiping his fingerprints from the keyboard. “We should join the gawping onlookers.”

Nurse Tildy showed up first, quizzing Mal and Yusuf about the chemicals involved as she examined Nash. A dozen other teachers and twice as many students filled the corridor and Arthur made sure to stay well within the crowd when Maurice Fischer showed up with Robert and Drake in tow.

Fischer took in the scene and then made his way over to Mal, grabbing her tightly around the arm and dragging off to the side, luckily close enough that Arthur could hear.

“What did you do, you crazy bitch?” he hissed.

“I did _nothing_.” she hissed back. “Lukas lost his temper and knocked some chemicals from the workbench.”

He twisted his grip on her arm cruelly and Arthur grabbed Dom’s shirt to keep him in place. “There are cameras in that lab. Is that what they’ll show?”

Mal sneered at him. “They would, had I not already erased the footage.” She peeled his fingers up as he gaped at her. “You stupid man, we were talking of Somnacin. Do you want that information released?”

Fischer stepped back, glaring at her. “No, of course not. But what will you say when you’re asked?”

She gave him look of pure distaste. “I will not be asked because _you will shut down the questions before they start._ He is _your_ assistant, and had no explainable _business_ in the lab.”

Fischer straightened. “I’ll have to tell them something.”

“Bah.” She muttered in French for a bit, too low for Arthur to make out. “Then I will tell them he was attempting to force his attentions on me. You will follow it up with an admission that he had an unhealthy fixation on me and that he will be disciplined, yes?”

Fischer gave her a deeply disapproving look but nodded.

The Headmaster and Saito’s ‘emergency response team’ showed up at the same time, and Fischer pushed through the crowd to meet the dazed-looking administrator, speaking forcefully into his ear with a single dismissive wave at Mal and then guiding the man away.

Nash was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled off the scene and Nurse Tildy began shooing everyone away.

Ariadne appeared and threw herself at Yusuf, checking him over before giving him a fierce kisses in between scoldings, and Drake sidled over to Arthur while everyone’s attention was drawn.

“Won’t have a chance to update you tonight regarding the unexpected arrival from himself.” He murmured. “Robby’s laying the groundwork for everything though. Talk to you tomorrow after Mass?” At Arthur’s nod, he moved back to Robert’s side and headed back toward the dormitories.

Mal strode off down the hallway, undoubtedly toward the guest quarters, and Dom hurried to follow.

“My rooms,” Eames whispered as he sauntered past, ostentatiously helping Nurse Tildy clear the onlookers.

Arthur felt his mouth curl up. The team, _his_ team, was operating beautifully. He could go have sex without major worries for the night, and honestly, how often could he say that?


	15. Wednesday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which early morning intercrural happens, Arthur provokes Richardson into a fight after Mass, Arthur meets Maurice Fischer in the infirmary and Professor Rayleigh proves interested, and Dom has kittens.

**Wednesday Next**

Arthur woke, relaxed and warm, half draped over Eames with his nose near the back of Eames’ neck. He found he was slowly rubbing a morning erection against the soft crease where the back of Eames’ thigh curved up to become his magnificent ass and Eames was mumbling something into his pillow, shifting under him, but Arthur knew he wasn’t really awake.

He slid a hand under the other pillow and pulled out his phone. He’d woken about ten minutes before his alarm, so he had plenty of time to go jerk off in Eames’ bathroom before he left. There was no need to wake the forger, although Arthur really wanted to do nothing more than that. He firmly controlled the selfish impulse and started to move away.

“Dnn ghh,” Eames mumbled, then sighed and turned his head a little, clear of the pillow. “Don’t go yet,” he whispered. “No alarm.”

“I turned it off,” Arthur whispered back, nuzzling the indentation between Eames’ shoulder blades.

Eames paused, then shifted his backside against Arthur’s erection. “Mmmm. G’morning t’you, too.”

“Don’t talk directly to my dick, it’s weird.” Arthur tried to mask his smile by kissing along Eames’ spine but he knew he’d failed when Eames gave him a dirty snicker.

“Go back to sleep,” Arthur murmured against the soft skin, tracing the dark ink patterns with his breath.

Eames stretched a little. “Can’t leave you at sixes and sevens, love,” he said in a rough drowsy voice.

Arthur huffed a laugh against his back. “Was just going to go take care of it myself.”

“Mmm.” Eames slid his hand toward the bedside table without opening his eyes. “Don’t go.” He started patting the bed surface blindly and Arthur leaned up on an elbow to watch, his mouth quirking.

“What are you looking for?”

Pat, pat. Pat. “Where’d the bloody lube go?” Eames growled softly.

Arthur snorted and pushed Eames’ elbow a little further until his fingers came into contact with the plastic bottle.

“Ahh,” Eames made a sleepy pleased sound and slid the bottle back towards Arthur. “Thighs.” He nestled his face back into the pillow, squirming a little against the bed.

Arthur blinked and then smiled. “Early morning intercrural, Eames?”

“Mmm.”

Arthur chuckled. “With no effort needed on your part.”

“Clever pet,” Eames murmured, lifting his face for a moment. “Have at.”

Arthur laid his cheek against Eames’ shoulder, hand resting on the muscular swell of Eames’ backside. “God, Eames,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the base of Eames’ spine, then he picked up the lube and poured some into his hand, rubbing to warm it before sliding his slippery fingers between Eames’ thighs. When he withdrew his hand, Eames pressed his legs together and hooked one ankle over the other.

Arthur quickly slicked his cock and propped himself up over Eames, straddling the back of his thighs and dragging his cock along the seam of Eames’ legs before pushing between them. He exhaled hard at the tightness and Eames made a contented noise. Arthur groaned deep in his throat as he slowly thrust, the friction perfect, his nose pressed to the back of Eames’ shoulder as his breathing quickened.

Eames murmured encouragement as Arthur worked between his thighs, not in words so much as semi-articulate noises, half-words that Arthur probably could have translated had he not been utterly distracted by driving hungrily into the slick sweet constraint Eames offered, breathing in his scent, heavy along the inked skin.

Arthur groaned as he came and Eames sighed with him, pleased at his pleasure and not really much more awake than he had been.

“You’re leaving me in the wet spot, aren’t you?” Eames murmured, a faint smile on his face as he made no effort to move whatsoever.

Arthur kissed the back of his neck before he got out of bed to dress. “I am, considering that you get to stay in bed and also that you’re completely capable of shifting your lazy ass over on your own.”

“Haaarrshhh,” Eames breathed, barely audible, utterly belied by the soft smile he wore.

Arthur left before he did something stupid like climb back into bed with him.

Arthur had gambled that Maurice Fischer wouldn’t be at Mass. He’d had a plan for that but it would have made things quite a bit trickier and so he was happy that the man was nowhere in sight. Chuffed, he thought with a smirk.

Eames was there, though Arthur avoided his gaze, the memory of that strong body underneath him far too fresh for rational public behavior.

Richardson was definitely there, sitting on the outskirts of his former group and simmering. His girlfriend was sitting with a group of her friends, but next to one of Richardson’s former minions, making big eyes at him with a coyly-tilted head as she played with a lock of hair, touching her mouth with the end of it and tracing it along her lips. Ariadne was giving her a look of disgust faintly tinged with unwilling admiration and Arthur wanted to snort. He still remembered that feeling from school — ‘I would never do something like that’ mixed with ‘but if I had that option...’

He made sure to catch Richardson’s eye as he sauntered in and then took a seat among the minions, nodding graciously at the startled looks that resulted and crowing internally when they settled with no more than that, several of them going so far as to nod back.

He could just about feel the heat of Richardson’s helpless hatred like a physical touch. The idiot just needed one more shove, he judged.

As Mass ended, Arthur made sure he was directly behind Richardson in the press of people leaving.

Practically in the young man’s ear, he whispered quickly, making sure no one else could hear, “You’re a moron. If you weren’t such a greedy, uncontrolled, short-sighted idiot, you’d still have power in this school and you wouldn’t be the loser that everyone’s laughing at right now. And you’ve lost everything, haven’t you? Leadership, girlfriend, sex toy, dignity...”

Arthur made sure to step wide around Richardson as the crowd opened up and spilled down the steps outside the chapel, making no contact, in fact leaving a large gap between them. He made it several steps toward where Ariadne and Yusuf were waiting for him, Mal and Eames just off to the side talking together, when the expected attack came.

Ariadne shrieked, her eyes wide, and Arthur half-turned, taking Richardson’s fist against his cheek and rolling with it, bringing the idiot down with him as they tumbled down the steps, letting him land ineffectual blows on Arthur’s body that would leave fewer marks than the stairs themselves. As they grappled, Arthur felt the accidental touch of Richardson’s hand on the knife Arthur wore concealed at his belt and then the young man was scrabbling for it and managed to pull it free from the holster as they were tumbling down the last steps. Arthur cursed and partially blocked it, but felt a shallow burning slice along his ribcage before he took full control of Richardson’s hand and arm. When they hit the courtyard at the bottom, Arthur flipped them, pinning Richardson facedown with his arm extended, Richardson’s hand holding the blade in clear view of every gaping stare focused on them. Several teachers hurried to disarm him, and Drake and Tadashi were there to pull Arthur away, Drake flipping off Arthur’s blazer to expose the bleeding edge of the cut with the his shirt gaping red and wet around it.

“Bloody _shite_ , Arthur, we have to get you to the nurse!” Drake shouted. His fingers were deftly prodding the cut even as he bellowed and he gave Arthur a quick tight nod to confirm that it was indeed shallow and relatively harmless.

“You two do that,” Mal ordered briskly, then nodded at the teachers holding a shocked and angry Richardson. “Let us take this young murderer to the Headmaster, hmm?”

Richardson protested wildly as he was dragged off and Eames gestured to Drake and Tadashi even as he was swinging an arm out to intercept Ariadne. “No, now, hush Ari. He’s _fine_ and everything is under control. You need to go get people talking all about how Richardson’s been plotting, or some such nonsense, so that this becomes impossible for the administration to ignore. Yeah?” At Ariadne’s tearful nod, he let her go with a little push into Yusuf’s arms before he turned back to glare at Arthur, braced between Drake’s tall bulk and Tadashi’s wiry slenderness.

“Was the knife part of your plan?” Eames asked, low and dangerous.

Arthur realized Eames was furious. “No,” he replied firmly, meeting his angry stare. “That was _never_ a part of my plan.”

Eames looked away, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Get him to the nurse,” he said and turned away to follow the crowd of teachers escorting Richardson.

“Oooo,” Drake murmured as they walked. “You’re in tr- _ouble_ , my lad...”

Arthur huffed a laugh, keeping a hand pressed over the cut. “Shut up and get us somewhere private so I can finish this quickly.”

“Finish what?” Drake frowned as he steered them into a side corridor.

“Don’t be denser than you must, you bell-end,” Tadashi said as he took Arthur’s face in his hands, looking him over. “He has to be fairly unrecognizable to Maurice Fischer when the man meets him, as he will since Arthur is associated with Robert now.” He raised a questioning eyebrow at Arthur.

Arthur nodded and closed his eyes, trying to relax as he waited. Tadashi lightly touched his mouth in apology and then struck him three times in quick succession on the face.

“Fuck!” Drake exclaimed. “Richardson already hit him!”

“Yes,” Tadashi said, pressing cautiously under Arthur’s eye. “But Richardson could not be guaranteed to cause just the right kind of damage and so Arthur was prepared to finish the job himself. I think that will do,” he said, brushing his fingers over Arthur’s mouth again.

Arthur opened his eyes to meet Tadashi’s mischievous smile and glared at his fingers. Tadashi chuckled and pulled them away, unrepentant, before steering them back into the main corridor towards the nurse’s office.

“Don’t be teasing Saito like that before your birthday,” Arthur said firmly, feeling his lip puff up and his eye start to swell shut. He sighed. Eames was going to kill him.

“Hai, oniisan (Yes, elder brother),” Tadashi said serenely.

“I know you mean ‘I hear you’ and not ‘yes,’ Tadashi.”

“Iya, oniisan (No, elder brother),” Tadashi said serenely.

“Enough with the shifty negatives. I know you’re still saying nothing but ‘I hear the words coming from your mouth,’” Arthur said sternly.

“Is he calling you big brother and still trying to flirt?” Drake asked with a curl of his lip. “To quote Ari, ‘so much ewww.’ And what ‘shifty negatives?’”

Arthur sighed as Tadashi grinned and answered. “In Japanese culture, it’s rare to come out and say ‘no’ or disagree with someone explicitly. It’s not considered polite. You’re much more likely to run into ‘muzukashii (this is difficult),’ which essentially means you’ve encountered, or presented someone with, a difficulty. Even ‘iie’ or ‘iya’ rarely actually mean ‘no.’”

“Huh,” Drake said thoughtfully. “So how do you say ‘fuck no’ when you need to?”

“Dame (Forbidden)!” Tadashi said with a ferocious mock scowl, crossing his arms over his chest.

Drake grinned at him. “Thanks. Now I know what to do to Saito the next time he sidles too close to you.”

Arthur laughed softly at Tadashi’s face, feeling the pull on the various sore spots. “Drake, you are henceforth deputized to keep Tadashi’s virtue until he’s legal.”

“What?” Tadashi glared at Arthur. “I’m hardly virtuous and if I want to...” Drake put a hand over his mouth.

“Nope,” the big redhead said easily. “What Arthur says, goes. Now shut up before we go in.”

“ _Jay_ sus and all his tarted-up saints!” Nurse Tildy shouted when they walked in. “Arthur Darling, what the _hell_ happened?”

Arthur let her peel him out of his shirt with several manful winces. “It’s n...”

“If you tell me it’s nothing, young man, I’ll pour surgical spirits right into this wound!”

“Oof,” Drake said, impressed. “It was Richardson. The bugger jumped Arthur from behind coming out of Mass.”

“Richardson had a _knife_?” She scowled as she examined the slice and then Arthur’s face, tilting it this way and that in the light.

“No,” Arthur admitted. “The knife was mine, but it was hidden and sheathed until Richardson found it as we were struggling.”

The nurse put her hands on her hips. “And what is it you were doing with a knife in school, young man?”

Arthur looked down, putting on an abashed expression. “Well, I never went unarmed back home...”

She gave him a dry look. “I would’ve made an argument that we’re somewhat more civilized than America, but I have to admit that Richardson is proving the opposite point. Though if you _hadn’t_ had a knife on you, I wouldn’t be considering sutures right now.”

“Yes’m,” Arthur agreed humbly. “I don’t think it needs stitches, though.”

She looked him over, her lips pressing together in appalled disapproval at the scars Arthur already had on his torso. “Is that a bullet wound?” she demanded as she touched one scar.

Arthur bit his lip and ducked his head, knowing it made him seem younger. “I’m here because I ran with a bad crowd back home,” he said softly.

The nurse made a doubtful noise but began cleaning his injuries. “Tell me what happened,” she said to Tadashi firmly. “You and you hush,” she said to Drake and Arthur.

While she was tapping a finger on a suture kit and Arthur was protesting, the Headmaster walked into the infirmary, followed by Mal and Eames and half a dozen other teachers. Arthur’s eye had swollen almost shut, his lip was split again, and bruises were beginning to bloom on his face. His bare torso had marks from landing against the edges of the steps, and the nurse hadn’t yet aggressively cleaned the knife wound, preferring to wait to see if it would start bleeding again.

The Headmaster blinked, obviously having expected lesser injuries. In the background, Eames’ face took on the expressionlessness Arthur was beginning to dread.

“Well,” the Headmaster said weakly.

Nurse Tildy gave him a scathing glance. “I expect we’ll be expelling Richardson,” she said pointedly.

“Now, there’s no need to rush to...” he started.

She straightened. “No need to rush? This knife wound argues otherwise.”

The Headmaster flustered. “It was Darling’s knife, wasn’t it?”

“Which he told me days ago he carried for protection,” Mal broke in. “Apparently justified,” she added with irritation.

“This isn’t the first time Richardson’s attacked Darling unprovoked,” Eames added.

Rayleigh, Yusuf’s chemistry teacher, had stepped forward to look Arthur over. “No indeed,” he said thoughtfully. “Only yesterday I brought him to you because he’d broken into Darling’s room and I caught him sneaking through his things. This really can’t stand, Headmaster.”

The Headmaster was in an agony of indecision. “I’ll...take all this under advisement,” he muttered.

Rayleigh gave him a sharp look. “You mean you’ll consult with Maurice Fischer to see if he’s all right with us kicking out one of his own.”

“Listen, Rayleigh...” the man spluttered.

Rayleigh waved him off and turned back to Arthur, regarding him from under his shaggy grey eyebrows. “Is it you that’s caused such a shift in young Amari?”

Arthur found himself liking this brusque old man who clearly concerned himself with Yusuf’s well-being. “He only needed the right catalyst, sir,” he said quietly.

“Hah! The right catalyst. Well, well.” Rayleigh smiled at him while looking him over and Arthur abruptly realized that he was reacting to the old man as he might’ve to a capable superior officer. What was worse, he knew Rayleigh had seen it too. “Relax,” the man said, raising an eyebrow. “Tildy, my overzealous poppet, this boy does not need suturing, so do restrain your cosseting ways.”

The nurse scoffed at him. “Of the two of us, which is the medical professional again? Oh wait, that’d be none other than myself. And that’d make you the stroppy old soldier with far too many unnecessary scars and bloody war stories to be given any sort of credence in these matters. Get you out, you old jackal, before I turn my ‘cosseting ways’ to you.”

“Run, lad,” Rayleigh urged with a grin. “I’ll not be able to take fire like this for long.”

“I’m afraid she’d hunt me down, sir,” Arthur said without moving, eyeing the nurse with a touch of apprehension.

“Hmph. The lad shows sense,” she sniffed. She was dabbing at the edges of the cut when Drake stiffened.

Rayleigh snorted softly. “Well, if it isn’t the useless tit himself,” he muttered as everyone turned to see Maurice Fischer swan in, followed by Robert.

“This?” Fischer demanded. “This is the boy you’re claiming as a friend? A common thug that Richardson tried to warn me about?”

Nurse Tildy drew herself up in affront. “You can mind your manners in my infirmary, or you can leave. In fact, the lot of you get lost; I’ll not have you standing about taking up space.”

Fischer glared at her as she went back to cleaning the knife cut. Everyone else shuffled out but Drake and Tadashi and Rayleigh, though Eames cast Arthur a look that promised a vigorous discussion at a later date. Drake moved to stand behind Robert’s shoulder and Rayleigh crossed his arms and leaned back against the nurse’s desk, staring Fischer down.

“I’d not take Richardson’s word for much,” Rayleigh finally said. “He’s never been what I might call a trustworthy boy, and it’s his own cock-ups that’ve caused his losses. So far as I know, Darling here has not lifted a hand to him but in self-defense.”

Fischer hummed doubtfully, but Nurse Tildy huffed in annoyance. “This is the third time Richardson’s attacked him. And there’s not been a scratch on Richardson in return.”

Arthur shrugged with a careful motion and looked at Fischer, meeting his dubious gaze steadily. “Not sure what the problem is, sir, aside from maybe that I’m not afraid of him,” he said quietly. “I’m not part of his group, I’m not after his girlfriend, and I don’t have any classes with him. So I’m not sure what he could even tell you about me. I did have some issues at my last school, but that was because of my own choices. I figured I’d look on this as another chance and I wasn’t looking for any trouble.” He lifted his chin. “But I’ll certainly settle any if it seeks me out.”

Arthur’s research on Maurice Fischer had told him the man was self-made and prideful about it, had not done well at school, and had gotten into a fair amount of trouble himself before straightening out. He’d certainly over-protected Robert even as he’d pushed at him.

Fischer softened a touch around the edges as Arthur had calculated he might if he felt there was common ground.

“Also, this wouldn’t be the first time that Richardson’s lied about something,” Robert said a little sadly, and Arthur would have applauded if he’d dared. Fischer bristled at the implied hurt to his offspring even as he scowled at Robert for the show of vulnerability.

Rayleigh was watching all the interactions with a sharp gaze and let a tiny smile flicker across his mouth before tucking it away. “Always seemed to me like a boy that’d been over-indulged; never challenged by anything and toughened up. Always thought that one ought to be sent to military school or such like before he was completely ruined and useless. Not that he was ever going to turn out as well as your Robert here. Bit of a waste, if I’m honest.” He shrugged. “Well, I’m off, Tildy-poppet. Don’t mollycoddle this one, just slap a bit of tape on him and send him on his way.”

She gave him a look. “I’ll be sure to give your medical advice _exactly_ the weight it deserves.”

He grinned and tossed off a casual salute before taking himself out the door, patting Robert on the shoulder as he went. “Excellent results on your last exam, lad, keep up the good work.”

Maurice Fischer harrumphed, all the wind taken from his sails, and Arthur took the opportunity to hiss a little as Nurse Tildy dabbed at the cut. “Yes, well,” Fischer said. “We should go. What do you think, Robert, would the Richardson boy benefit from a change of venue?” He steered his son out and Drake nodded at Tadashi and followed the Fischers out of the infirmary.

“It really is quite shallow,” Tadashi said helpfully as he watched the nurse clean it, giving her a sweet and winning smile as she glanced at him.

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll just put a bit of tape on it, but when it scars, it’s on your collective heads.”

As they left the nurse’s office, Tadashi gave him an uncertain look. “Classes are on. Am I taking you to your room or to Mr Eames’?”

Arthur sighed. “Eames is pretty pissed at me, I think. And I have no desire to go hide in my room.”

“Surely you’re not thinking of attending classes looking like that?” Tadashi was skeptical as he gestured at Arthur’s face. “And, at the least, you need a shirt.”

Arthur blew out a sigh and winced as a bruise twinged. “Fine. My room.”

Dom was waiting inside Arthur’s room when they got there, arms crossed and glaring.

Arthur sighed again and pulled a shirt out of his closet. “Can we not do this right now?” he asked as he gingerly pulled it on.

Dom growled and batted Arthur’s hands away, pushing the shirt aside to examine the taped cut and then taking hold of Arthur’s chin to look over his face. “Well, you’ve done a proper job of it, haven’t you?”

Arthur smiled. “Actually, this was all either Richardson or Tadashi.”

Dom threw a glance at Tadashi that had him taking a step back.

“Hey. Dom.” Arthur reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Ease down.”

“All we heard was that Richardson pulled a knife on you during a fight.”

“Ah. Well, yes, but it was my knife and I kept him from doing anything serious.”

Dom was incredulous. “You let a stupid kid turn your own knife on you?”

“I was busy falling down the stairs with him and trying to keep both of us from snapping our necks,” Arthur said with more than a touch of exasperation.

“Maybe you could have talked to me and we could have figured out some other way...” Dom’s voice was scaling up as Tadashi cleared his throat.

Arthur nodded at the young man, indicating the door and letting him escape. “Where’s all this overprotectiveness coming from, Dom?”

Dom dropped onto the desk chair and rubbed at his face, silent for a long couple of breaths. “After the Cobol op went south, I thought I was sending you to safety,” he said finally. “And instead, here’s this mess, and that mess, and this other mess, and more people here know about your cover than I think you’ve let slip over the entire course of your career, and that’s not even counting the actual presence of Maurice Fischer, who could snap his fingers and have you killed if one of them blabs.” He blew out a gusty sigh. “I’ve never been in less control of an operation, and I’ve never seen you dance on so many edges. All while falling into bed with one of the least trustworthy people around.”

At Arthur’s glare, he shrugged. “That’s his reputation, Arthur, you can’t be angry at me for telling you what other people say about him.”

“I’m angry that you keep bringing it up, like repetition is going to make a difference.”

Dom ran his hands through his own hair and looked away. “Okay, I’ll shut up about it.” He looked back at Arthur, his mouth twisting in grim amusement. “You’re my best friend, sad though that is. And you’re like a younger brother, too. So I guess that makes me feel like I’ve got the right to...”

“Run my life?” Arthur gave him a wry look. “You get to run my ops, Dom. The rest of it is only a consulting position.”

Dom laughed, relaxing. “A _consultant?_ Wow, you sure know to flatter a guy. I can see now how you get all the dudes.”

“Jesus, Dom, get out. I want to take a painkiller. And maybe a nap.”

Dom got up and backed to the door, holding up his hands. “Whoa, if that’s leading into telling me why you’re short of sleep, I don’t want to know.”

“Will you leave if I tell you how well Eames...” Arthur smirked as the door closed and stripped down to his boxers before swallowing a pill and curling up carefully on his bed. He needed to talk to Eames, but it would have to wait until after his classes anyway, so he might as well get a little sleep, he decided as he drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Hai, oniisan (Yes, elder brother)  
> Iya, oniisan (No, elder brother (familiar))  
> muzukashii (this is difficult)  
> iie, iya (no, no (familiar))  
> Dame (Forbidden)


	16. Still Wednesday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur wakes up to a staff meeting, Ariadne acquires a harem, and the team takes Maurice Fischer under for a preliminary dream.

**Still Wednesday Next**

Arthur was a little dismayed at how sore he was when he woke. He was further dismayed by the fact that Eames had somehow come into the room and gotten into bed with him and re-arranged them both so that Arthur was laying against Eames’ chest and shoulder, across his lap, before Arthur had woken up.

“Ow,” he said.

Eames snorted. “I hope you don’t expect me to have much bloody sympathy for you.” The gentle way he supported Arthur’s body against him gave the lie to his tone and Arthur started to relax.

“Mr Eames!” Ariadne’s voice reproved him from the general direction of Yusuf’s bed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Arthur said without opening his non-swollen-shut eye. He could make out the sound of maybe half a dozen or so other people in the room and Eames was cradling him like a baby in front of them? “Put me the fuck down. Please.”

“Nope,” Eames said blithely. “It’s your punishment for handling the Richardson situation the way you did.”

Arthur heard Drake snort. “His punishment is for you to hug him sweetly?”

“In front of the rest of you, yes.”

There was a pause and then Drake made a thoughtful noise. “Remind me not to cross you,” he finally said to Eames. “Ow!” Arthur guessed that Robert had elbowed him.

Arthur sighed and opened his good eye. Besides Eames, whose lap he was in, Ariadne, Yusuf, and Tadashi were perched on Yusuf’s bed, and Drake and Robert sat close together on the two room chairs.

Ariadne leaned forward, her face worried but determined. Arthur felt a flash of alarm. “Arthur, you know that we all think the world of you...”

The chill of a dawning horror crawled over him. “Are you holding an _intervention_?”

Eames lost his mind, laughing so hard he choked.

Arthur pushed away from him and to his feet. “Someone explain.”

Drake was snickering and Robert gave him a shove. “This isn’t...shut _up_ , Marc...an intervention, although maybe it could be taken as such.”

Yusuf held up his hands though he was fighting down a smile himself. “Ariadne, sweet flower, maybe rephrase what you were going to say.”

She glowered at Arthur, arms crossed. “Are we a team or not?”

His mouth opened and then he paused and shut it, feeling an unaccustomed chagrin as he glanced around the room at his pack. “Dom’s not here because we already had it out and he doesn’t believe we’re a team anyway. Saito’s not here because he’s not really involved with this part. Mal’s not here because she’s been such a lone wolf for so long that when you mentioned my tendency toward independent action, she probably shrugged and wondered what you were going on about. But the rest of you...” He sighed and looked down. “Yeah, we’re a team.”

Robert arched an eyebrow at him. “And what should you have done once you identified Richardson as a threat?”

Arthur tried and failed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Brought it up to the team to see if we could come up with an acceptable plan.”

Ariadne threw Yusuf’s pillow at him. “Damn straight you should’ve!”

Tadashi shrugged with a slight smile. “An acceptable plan might still have ended up with you fighting Richardson, but I feel as if _someone_ might’ve managed to remind you to remove your knife first.”

“And we’d have known what to expect,” Yusuf said firmly. “And would not have been surprised or have had to hear the news through a gossip trail.” Robert, who almost never attended the daily mass, nodded firmly, and Ariadne’s face pinched as she remembered.

Arthur made a little helpless gesture at Ariadne’s dismay, then held out his arms to her. “You’re all absolutely right,” he said as she carefully embraced him. He gave her a gentle squeeze in return. “Sorry. I...promise to do better.” He dropped a light kiss on the top of Ariadne’s head and gave her a push back toward Yusuf.

“Right, that’s sorted then. Can we stop with the team-building exercises now?” Drake asked plaintively. Ariadne threw Yusuf’s other pillow at him.

Tadashi stood and herded the others out of the room, ignoring Yusuf’s protests that it was his room as well.

Arthur took a deep breath when the door shut and locked behind them, and turned to face Eames.

The forger was studying Arthur’s face, eyes darting from mark to mark, not expressionless, but not giving away much either. “I’m not here to lecture you about teamwork,” Eames said finally.

“No, because it was the partnership bit that I fucked up between us,” Arthur said with a grimace.

“Are we partners?” Eames asked with a deceptive lightness.

Arthur felt the now-familiar jolt of fear and knew Eames saw it. He sat down on the edge of his bed, close enough to be in contact. “I want us to be. I intend us to be. Even though I clearly suck at it.”

“You do,” Eames assured him gravely. He blew out a breath. “But if I’m honest, I probably suck at it, too.” He lifted a hand and let his fingers wander delicately over Arthur’s face, then dropped his gaze to Arthur’s side. “I didn’t think I’d react so strongly to seeing you injured like that. And I don’t like it,” he added flatly. “It makes me want to run away, because I don’t have any control over your risk-taking, and I know it’s going to screw you up if you start making risk decisions based on whether you think I can stand it or not.”

The thought of Eames leaving made Arthur feel like the breath had been punched out of him.

Eames reached up and cradled Arthur’s face gently in both hands. “See, that, right there. So let me try to be as clear with you as you are with me, darling.” Arthur gave him a jerky nod, his chest and throat tight. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never trusted anyone enough to have to figure this out. I’m certain I’m going to fuck it up enough to drive you away, and I’m terrified of that. I have gotten entirely too attached to you and that scares the ever-living shite out of me, because I _do not_ let anyone close enough to be used against me.”

Eames sighed and stroked his thumbs over Arthur’s freshly split lip. “You’ve been brave enough to show me that moment of panic every time it hits you, darling, but I’m a coward. I can’t live up to that standard. I want to cut and run all the bloody _time_.”

“Will you?” Arthur asked bluntly, his heart in his throat. When was the precise moment he’d decided he wanted Eames as more than a porn-worthy fuck? When had he gotten so attached himself that he would tell Eames everything if it meant Eames would trust him more? He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, he just knew that his life was better with Eames in it. It had literally been eight days since he’d first laid eyes on him, how could it have progressed to this?

Eames watched him, a smile curling those lush lips. “Eight days,” he nodded. “I know what’s going through your abused and addled head, pet.” He touched the swollen skin under Arthur’s eye and sighed. “No, I’m not planning to run. But this whatever emotion at first fuck thing is hard on an old thief’s heart, let me tell you, love.”

Arthur leaned forward to rest his forehead on Eames’ shoulder. Love, he thought. Is it too soon to tell if it’s love? “Why do I get the impression that I’ll be saying ‘you’re not old’ a lot?”

Eames made a soft sound of amusement and cupped the back of Arthur’s head, brushing his mouth over Arthur’s ear. “Now _that_ thought makes me happy.”

Arthur thought that curling up in Eames’ lap again would make him happy and the various throbbing sensations from his body agreed. He nudged Eames to settle against the wall and tucked himself back into his lap, relaxing even as Eames’ hand settled just below the taped-up wound on his ribs. “It really is not much more than a scratch.“

“I know,” Eames murmured fondly into Arthur’s hair. “It’ll still put a spanner in our sex life, you twit.”

Arthur smirked against his shoulder. “Don’t see why it should. I can just lay back and let you work for once.”

“For once...you rotter.” Eames cradled him closer. “Why don’t you get a little more shuteye before we go watch Drake be put through his paces for Maurice Fischer’s benefit?”

Arthur glanced at the clock. “You should go have dinner.”

Eames’ fingers started a gentle soothing motion through Arthur’s hair and Arthur’ good eye fluttered shut. “Hush, darling. Have a short kip.”

Eames woke him a couple of hours later and gave him a couple of painkillers, snorting at Arthur’s declaration of undying love as he downed the pills.

“You’re probably a cheap date too, you lightweight.”

Arthur gave him a look of mock affront. “Just because it would take less alcohol to get me as drunk as a water buffalo like you doesn’t mean that it would be cheap stuff.”

“A _water buffalo?_ That’s your first comparison?”

Arthur shrugged. “Better lips than a gorilla.”

Eames blinked at him. “I think I’m actually speechless.”

“Now _that_ I doubt.”

When they got to the gym, Drake was already sparring with Dom and the two ‘trainers.’ Saito was, of course, nowhere in sight since Maurice Fischer would’ve identified him immediately. Robert was talking quietly with his father while they watched Drake.

Ariadne was giving Drake grief from the sidelines and Arthur was amused to find that Fischer had assumed she was Drake’s girlfriend. Ariadne was having all kinds of fun with that.

“C’mon, Tiger!” she shouted. “Don’t let ‘em put you down that hard! Are you all mouth and no trousers after all?”

“You don’t want to get started on my trousers, pixie!” Drake shouted back just before Dom swept his feet out from under him.

“Pay attention, Drake,” Dom advised him, failing to hide a smirk. The two trainers were snickering as they circled Drake.

“Yeah, pay attention!” Ari shouted. “I mean, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“Bite my arse, Ari!” he growled, fighting back a grin.

“Been there, tried that, was picking hair out of my teeth for hours!”

Drake turned to look at her incredulously. “You’re going _there_ , imp? Really?”

She bounced on her seat with an gleeful grin, clearly already there and waiting for him to catch up.

Robert snorted, holding a hand over his mouth. “Ease down, Ari. It’d be nice to see some actual training happen tonight.”

“Hey, a bodyguard has to learn to deal with all kinds of distractions, right?” She winked at him.

One of the trainers shook his head. “You’re a distraction of a different calibre, kid. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Oi!” Drake objected as Ari blew the trainer a kiss.

Ari grinned at him. “That’s right, Tiger, you better level up before you try this boss battle!”

Robert was doing his best not to snicker, but Maurice Fischer was regarding Ariadne with alarmed amazement.

“Do they have a _good_ relationship?” he asked Robert in a whisper.

Eames had to turn away and Arthur bit the inside of his cheek.

Robert smiled serenely at his father. “They get along in the most astonishing ways.”

After a grudging and provisional approval of Drake’s efforts, Maurice and Robert headed back to Robert’s room to talk further. Drake hung back with the others and tried to persuade Ariadne not to crawl into his lap.

“You’re _not_ my girlfriend,” he hissed as the Fischers made their way out.

She batted her eyelashes and clung to him, cooing, until the door had shut behind Maurice Fischer. Then she collapsed with laughter, flopping across his lap and waving her hands wildly as she gasped. “Oh! Oh!” was all she managed to get out for awhile. “Ahhhh. That was too much fun.” She grinned up at Drake, draped across his legs, and he sighed and shook his head at her.

“I’m _not_ gonna pretend to be your boyfriend while Robby’s da is here, you know. And what was up with that ‘Tiger’ business? Wolf, weasel, now tiger? I’m starting to think you’ve a bestiality kink.”

She laughed and bounced up, kissing him on the forehead. “No, you idiot for whom I have the _strangest_ affection, you’re part of my harem. You and Yusuf. And right now Yusuf’s my primary; so you have an _excuse_ for your foul moods while Fischer’s here and you can’t get your end away.” Drake stared at her in disbelief as she continued. “And calling you ‘Tiger’ just distinguishes between the cover and reality so you’re always on your guard around him.” She beamed.

“That makes all kinds of sense,” Dom said solemnly, while the two trainers leaned against each other and shook in silent laughter. “Shows foresight and a good use of current resources.”

Ariadne nodded at him vigorously. “I know, right?” she said as Drake was bellowing “I don’t fucking _think_ so!”

Yusuf walked in and frowned. “What’s she done now?” he asked Arthur.

“Yusuf!” she called cheerfully as she bounded over to hug him. “You’re the primary male in my harem and Drake’s my secondary. That’s why he’s in a foul mood while Robert’s dad is here and he’s not able to hop into Robert’s bed as usual. And I’ll call him Tiger and get to hang all over him and he can’t be _too_ mad at me because of the hopeless passion that keeps him bound to me.”

Yusuf stared at her wicked grin and then at Drake, taking in his baffled affront, and then burst into laughter. “Ariadne,” he finally got out, “you are more precious than rubies and I heartily agree with this plan.”

Drake scowled and sucked in a huge breath, preparing to bellow again, then let it out as a gusty sigh and shrugged. “I mean, at least it will distract me,” he said in wry defeat. “I’ll text Robby so he won’t _look_ surprised when you say something insane like that in front of his da.”

Ariadne beamed at him. “If I didn’t already have a Yusuf, you would definitely be among my choices for runner-up.”

Arthur could feel Eames’ shoulders shaking beside him, and he himself was fighting not to grin, knowing it would painful.

The two trainers were clutching each other as they lost it and Drake ignored them firmly, turning to Dom. “I’m serious about this bodyguard thing, so if there’s anything else to cover tonight...”

“Actually,” Yusuf broke in. “I meant to tell everyone before Ari distracted me hopelessly.” He gave her a fond look. “Mal slipped Robert a sedative earlier to give to his father. She wants to try a test dream tonight, so we’ll meet at Robert’s room in an hour. She’s gone to get Saito and they’ll be here shortly so we can discuss what we’ll do.”

Dom nodded at the two trainers, who slipped out after clapping Drake on the shoulder with mostly sympathetic glances. “They’ll keep watch on our perimeter,” Dom said, pulling some chairs together in a tight group.

“I’m curious,” Eames said, rocking back on his chair. “So what’s been done has been this thing you call extraction.” Mal frowned lightly at him and nodded. “Where you try to get the subject to give up information they’d normally keep hidden.”

Dom leaned forward to look at him. “Which is where _your_ ability would really shine. You can impersonate...”

“Forge,” Eames put in with a crooked grin.

“... _forge_ a person’s nearest and dearest, or whomever they’d trust most. That’s going to be a _major_ advantage, beyond anything we’ve yet seen.”

Eames pulled a coin out of his pocket and started to idly flip it between his fingers. “Which is all well and good, and this extraction clearly works, even if it’s been a bit brutal in the past and you want to try sneakier techniques. But, I have to wonder what if...you know...what if...”

Arthur sat straight upright in his chair. “What if we could put something there, instead?”

Eames flashed him a full grin. “Precisely, darling. After all, we’re talking about dreams. Why couldn’t you give someone an idea, like a meme, and let them absorb it?”

Mal and Dom were staring at them.

Eames laughed softly. “So either it’s been a spectacular failure or its never been tried before.”

“No, that’s his ‘why didn’t I think of that’ face,” Arthur said with a dismissive gesture at Dom. “But I bet it can’t be just any idea. It’s got to be something the subject would accept.”

“Something tasty,” Tadashi said. “Exactly like a meme. The potential to receive it must be there first, but...” He glanced around at the group and grinned. “For instance, if I were to mention the words ‘one does not simply _walk_ into Mordor’...”

Ariadne, Drake, Arthur, Eames, and, surprisingly enough, Saito, all chuckled. Yusuf frowned and muttered something about not having had time for silly movies, and Mal stared at Tadashi blankly. He smiled and made a gesture like a magician revealing his trick. “So we know who would be susceptible to _that_ sort of delivery and who would not.”

Dom looked very thoughtful. “I really think we need to test this.” He looked at Mal, who was becoming equally thoughtful.

She nodded. “Let us try something small tonight. Some tiny thing that would show a change in Maurice Fischer if it took.”

“I could shoot at Robert and Drake could take the bullet meant for him,” Saito said thoughtfully. “If you wanted to see how such a dream would affect his opinion of Drake as a suitable bodyguard for Robert.”

Ariadne frowned at Saito. “Is it believable that you’d shoot at Robert in reality? To Mr Fischer, anyway?”

Saito smiled at her. “Not in reality. But Maurice Fischer is dreadfully afraid of my power and my company and I have no doubt his subconscious would have no qualms in deciding I was a murderer.”

“What are the potential problems?” Arthur asked briskly, looking at Dom and Mal.

Dom shrugged. “Have no idea. It’s never been tried before.”

“Speculate,” Arthur ordered, looking around at the others.

“Well the obvious would be that he simply rejects the idea,” Eames said.

Yusuf tilted his head. “What if he began to suspect that someone was trying to force such an idea on him? Might induce paranoia.”

“And that might be difficult to work around, I’d think,” Tadashi said.

Yusuf shrugged. “We could introduce a compound that reduces paranoia and anxiety, if that happens. Might leave him more open to suggestion, too.”

Mal was regarding them all with astonished wonder. “I cannot _wait_ to discover what we can accomplish,” she said softly.

Mal and Dom had modified the PASIV to allow more dreamers, so they were all under, with the two trainers keeping guard.

Robert and his father were sitting at a table in a waterfront café, facing a bay that looked remarkably like Port Jackson even while it lacked the distinctive opera house and featured a bridge that was not quite the harbor bridge. Eames, having hastily studied some video Robert had on his phone of his godfather, was sitting with them, wearing a semblance of Peter Browning, sipping coffee but not talking or otherwise calling attention to himself.

Arthur and Tadashi were sharing a table not far from them, Tadashi having whimsically served himself some mochi while Arthur regarded the dough-skinned balls of ice cream with suspicion, and Dom and Mal were nowhere in sight.

Ariadne came strolling up with Yusuf on one arm and Drake on the other, pausing to grin at Arthur. “Life is good,” she announced smugly. “Hey Robert!”

Robert waved at her from his table. “Afternoon, Ari. I see you and your boys are out for a saunter.”

Maurice Fischer frowned. “I thought she was with the big red-haired one.”

“She’s greedy,” Drake said with an eyeroll as they approached. “Afternoon Mr Fischer, Robert.”

Ariadne laughed, delighted. “Brains and brawn, Mr Fischer. You can’t beat the combo, but if it’s not immediately available, well, you just have to make do. Yusuf is a brilliant up-and-coming scientist and he’s already being sought after by various universities.” She smiled proudly and tugged Yusuf close to brush a kiss against his mouth. “And Tiger here, well...” She wrapped around Drake’s arm and grinned up at him lasciviously.

Drake shrugged. “It’s not exactly a hardship, being objectified,” he admitted with a smirk. “It will do until I start a permanent position, anyway.”

“And you want that to be as a bodyguard to my son,” Fischer said, unconvinced. “Why?”

“Well, besides the fact that I’ve a protective streak a shire wide, and that I like and respect him personally, I think it’s amazing the way he’s got the whole school organized around him.”

Fischer narrowed his eyes at him. “My son,” his voice dripping with dissatisfaction, “is not an acknowledged leader in his school.” Robert looked away, out over the harbor, his jaw clenching.

Drake nodded, under control. “See, that’s what makes it so bloody brilliant, sir. No one can point to him and say, ‘yeah, that’s the lad in charge,’ and yet every single faction leader thinks Robert’s on their side and consult with him over every little step. The administration and all the teachers constantly hold him up as an example. He’s got the reins to the entire place and he keeps all the local politics balanced neatly, with almost all the authority and just about none of the responsibility or work aside from a brief informal ‘consulting’ hour every day or two, and he runs the whole damn establishment from behind the curtains. Never seen anything like it, sir, and I’d follow someone like that to the ends of the earth.”

Tadashi nodded. “True. Even Richardson deferred to him, and he was a territorial prick at the best of times.”

Fischer blinked and turned to look at Robert, who was studying the cup he held in his hands. “You never said anything about this!”

“I’m still learning, father, and this was just...practice. I don’t like to bring things to you until I’ve got a fair handle on them.”

“My boy...”

“What a touching moment,” Saito sneered as he walked up, impeccable in a formal business suit. Arthur suffered a moment of brief jealousy at his embroidered silk waistcoat but put it away to consider later. “I am rather glad you are both here, as it makes this so much easier.” He pulled a semiautomatic from a holster behind his back and took aim at Robert, pulling the trigger even as Eames/Browning, Tadashi, and Arthur shoved themselves out of their seats at him.

But Drake was already in motion and took the bullet to the chest as he twisted himself between Robert and the gun, his body bearing Saito to the ground and giving everyone else time to converge and disarm him as Ariadne was frantically calling the police and Yusuf knelt beside Drake’s lifeless body.

Robert was staring at Drake while his father cursed.

“Why would you _do_ this?!” Maurice Fischer shouted at Saito.

Pinned under Eames/Browning while Tadashi searched him and Arthur held his own gun on him, Saito wheezed a laugh. “My dear Fischer, what do you think will happen? There will be a coverup because no government wants to deal with a case against someone as powerful as you or I. Nothing will happen except that you will know,” his voice sharpened, “beyond any doubt, that I am very weary of Fischer-Morrow’s interference with my affairs.”

At Fischer’s horrified glare, Saito laughed again, a little breathlessly. “Unbelievable. You act as if your own hands are so clean, Mr Fischer. Do you hide your deeds even from yourself?” He turned his gaze up to look at Eames/Browning. “Or do you delegate others to handle all your darker necessities?”

“Father,” Robert said, rising. “I can hear sirens. We have to go. We mustn’t be caught in the middle of this.”

“No,” Fischer agreed almost absently, still staring at Saito. “You’re right. We should go. Peter?”

Eames/Browning glanced up at Arthur, who nodded with a little waggle of Saito’s gun. “We’ll handle it. Go,” Arthur said.

As soon as the Fischers and Eames/Browning had disappeared around the corner, Arthur glanced around at the others. “I’ll kick you out,” he said, and calmly shot himself, giving Ariadne enough time to squeeze her eyes shut with a grimace.

Drake raised an eyebrow at him when Arthur opened his eyes. “Start waking people up?”

“Everyone but Eames and Robert. They’re still with Maurice Fischer. We’ll let them ride it out.”

“Gotcha. How’d it go?”

“I guess we’ll find out later,” Arthur shrugged. “I think Saito kind of stole the show.”

Drake chuckled. “Yeah, he seems kind of a scene-stealer, doesn’t he? Certainly not a movie villain though; he just fucking pulled that trigger without long-winded explanations. Maybe he delivered them after, but my _god_ ; just went right for the killshot, eh? And knows how to handle a gun, that one.” He shook his head in unwilling admiration.

Dom and Mal packed the PASIV away and everyone slipped out, leaving Arthur with Robert as they watched his father sleep in the armchair in Robert’s room.

“He’s not a good man,” Robert said very softly.

Arthur shrugged. “He was furious at a threat to you.”

Robert looked down. “He’s put years of work into me. It would have been a terrible waste.”

“That, too.”

Robert blinked Arthur’s easy agreement and then snorted. “I’m being ridiculous.”

“Watching Drake die threw you for a loop, even though you _knew_ it wasn’t real.”

“I...yes. It really did.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?”

Robert frowned and nodded slowly.

“Watching him die for you probably makes you want to stop him from being your bodyguard. But dying for you in that situation just makes him want it more, because anything is worth assuring your safety to him and he can’t do that except at your side. So be careful of any proclamations you may be tempted to make over the next few days, okay?”

Robert looked chagrined. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

Arthur glanced at Maurice Fischer, whose breathing pattern had shifted, and got up to go. Robert spread his textbooks out on his bed and opened his laptop.

As Arthur was carefully and silently closing the door, he heard Robert say, “Father? Maybe you should go to bed if you’re tired enough to fall asleep in that chair.”

“Ugh. I had the worst dream...”


	17. Thursday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is suddenly popular, answers to Her Majesty's local representative, takes a nap with Eames, clears the air with Dom, and gets a late-night visit from Tadashi.

**Thursday Next**

Arthur had slept in his own bed after leaving Robert with his father. He was still achy, and as much as he wanted the comfort of sleeping with Eames, he knew he needed the rest.

Anyway, Eames had taken one look at him as he came out of Robert’s dorm building and scowled worriedly. “You’re hunched. And walking gingerly.”

“I fell down a flight of stairs today while being punched repeatedly. I think I’m entitled to a little hunching.”

“Oh, are we not even mentioning a minor knife wound now?”

Arthur had glanced at him sidelong, allowing a tiny smirk. “I figured that was a sore spot between us.”

Eames had blinked. “Did you just make a _joke?_ My god, Arthur, sit down, I’ll go get Tildy.”

“I’m going to bed, you bastard,” Arthur had snorted, and pulled Eames close to brush their mouths together gently before heading off.

He slept through morning mass and breakfast, getting up in time to attend classes. His teachers were solicitous, but it was the other students that gave him pause. Ex-minions stopped him in the halls to ask how he was. Younger students smiled shyly at him. Random handfuls of girls fluttered their eyelashes in his direction as he passed or wanted to coo over his injuries. He was, astonishingly enough, suddenly popular.

This caused no end of hilarity among his pack at lunchtime.

Ariadne smirked at him. “I’ve got a list of girls who consider you ‘just too dreamy for actual words’ and want me to hook you up with them. The favors I’m being promised, and the little ‘gifts,’ would keep me happily for the rest of the school year, honestly.”

Tadashi rolled his eyes. “And they’re asking after your sexual preferences.”

Drake snorted. “Are they girls or boys asking?”

“Yes,” Tadashi said with a grin.

Arthur resisted the urge to rub his face, knowing it would hurt. “Why is this happening?”

“I know that was meant to be rhetorical,” Robert said with a chuckle, “but surely you know you’re the Bad Boy with a Heart of Gold and a Troubled and Mysterious Past who took on the School Bully and won. Or maybe you’re the Dark Hero with a Tragic History. Possibly you’re the Antihero who only needs True Love’s Pure Touch to transform you into the White Knight. However you slice it, you win the trope of the day, my friend.”

Arthur stared at him, appalled, as Drake and Ariadne snickered.

Yusuf smirked as he glanced around. “I don’t think a pure touch is what’s being offered, Robert.”

“Hmm, you’re probably right. Well, however they want to touch him, it doesn’t invalidate...”

Arthur buried his face in his arms on the table. “Please stop.”

Ariadne snorted. “It’ll die down as soon as you heal from being all Romantically Wounded. And sit up straight again, you’re making the princess contingent fight to be the one to come over and soothe your fevered brow.”

“Jesus.” He sat up and glared around, catching more than a couple of disappointed or hopeful looks. “Does anyone have anything objective-related? Please?”

Robert smiled. “My father’s gotten a couple of text messages from Lukas’ phone number; just status updates like ‘doing better but can’t talk yet.’ I’m assuming they’re coming from Saito’s people, but eventually my father’s going to start asking questions that can’t be answered by text. Probably sooner than later.”

“I’ll ask Dom to find out,” Arthur said, pulling out his cell phone and sending a text. **MF will need settlement on our leak. Status on any resolution?**

**_In progress_** , was what he got back. He showed it to Robert, who shrugged.

“Not in our hands,” the young man said wisely.

Ariadne leaned forward. “Is it too soon to see if there’s any result from the dream?”

“He was quite a bit more civil this morning at breakfast,” Drake said with a shrug. “Honestly, imp, if he’s still questioning me it’s probably because he doubts my sanity at being involved with _you_.” He lifted his cup to take a drink.

She sniffed. “It’s okay to admit I’m too much woman for you, Drake.”

Drake choked on the drink he’d just taken and Robert snickered as he helpfully patted his back.

Tadashi leaned around Arthur to stare at Drake. “ _Learn_ ,” he urged with a mock-concerned furrow of his brow.

Arthur looked away from Drake’s spluttering to share an amused eyeroll with Yusuf, who inclined his head towards the exit and tapped his jacket pocket. Relieved, Arthur nodded and slipped out with him and down the corridor, tearing open the pill packet Yusuf offered him and swallowing the contents dry.

Professor Rayleigh stepped out from a classroom doorway as they approached. “Ah, Amari, Darling. Mr Darling, have you a moment?”

Arthur glanced at Yusuf, who smiled and nodded and headed down the corridor. “Certainly, professor. Your office?”

Rayleigh gestured back into the classroom. “Oh, nothing so formal, Mr Darling. In here, if you would.”

Arthur walked in and hopped up to sit on the edge of the table at the head of the classroom, his feet dangling, and took off his satchel to shove it to the far end of the table, out of reach. He slipped out of his blazer and tossed it over to lay beside his satchel, toed off his shoes and let them fall to the floor, then rested his hands on the table beside him, palms up, spread wide and visible. “Yes, Commander?”

Rayleigh burst out laughing. “You young pup! You may have done this a few times before, eh?”

Arthur gave him a wry smile. “More than I’d like, sir. If I may...?”

Rayleigh leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and nodded, still smiling.

“Her Majesty’s Government has very little to be concerned about in this situation, sir. This is an internal matter being sorted out.”

He got a skeptical eyebrow. “An _internal_ matter. Involving both Fischer-Morrow and Proclus Global?”

“Only peripherally. My group, the Company, was hired by Proclus Global to look into an issue concerning Fischer-Morrow. One of my team members betrayed the rest of the team and...”

Rayleigh straightened and stepped toward him, intent. “The Cobol operation.”

Arthur made a face. “I’d been hoping it hadn’t made such a splash in the intelligence community, but yes.”

“My God, a _splash_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. Cobol has been frantic in its attempts to get their hands on you and your team. This morning, they tripled the money they’re offering. And Maurice Fischer is the hand in that glove.”

Arthur winced. “Yes, sir. We’re attempting a reasonable resolution to that.”

Rayleigh rubbed his face and dropped into a chair. “And I should take no official notice of these goings-on under my nose? The three biggest international energy corporations are involved, two of those CEOs are physically here, and the most infamous mercenary company in the world, which suffered a devastating betrayal, shows up at the same school where Fischer has stashed a disaffected French commando and a notorious forger and thief. Not to mention it being the same school his heir attends. Tell me, Arthur, and I presume you are _that_ Arthur, how, in good conscience, should I overlook all of this?”

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. “Sir, I...”

The classroom door was flung open and Eames stepped in, Walther 9mm in hand, and kicked the door shut behind him. Arthur blinked and Rayleigh slowly raised his hands in the air.

Eames took in the two of them and gradually lowered the gun. “So a rescue is not actually called for at the moment.”

Arthur slipped off the edge of the table and walked over to him, laying a reassuring hand on his wrist. “What did Yusuf s _ay?_ ”

Eames scowled. “He just blithely mentioned that you’d stopped to chat with Rayleigh, but I know he doesn’t know what Rayleigh is.” He turned the scowl on Rayleigh, past Arthur.

The old professor still had his hands in the air, but he was relaxed back into his chair with a highly entertained look on his face.

“Eames,” Arthur murmured, appalled to realize a slight blush was rising. He fought the urge to bury his face in Eames’ shoulder.

“Don’t mind me,” Rayleigh said with delight. “Please, carry on. Never thought I’d see Eames the forger, Eames the renowned international art thief, in the role of Prince Charming, rescuing Princess Arthur from the dragon’s lair.” He tucked his hands behind his head. “Wish I had popcorn.”

Eames started to raise the gun again, and Arthur stepped close and brushed their mouths together. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Eames made a tiny frustrated noise and then sighed as he holstered his gun. “I should have known you didn’t really need help, but apparently you’ve turned off my critical thinking facilities, and I’m worried we might need those later, darling.”

“Eames,” Arthur said firmly. “This could easily have been exactly what you suspected, so I’m grateful for your...impulse. I will properly express that gratitude _later_.”

Eames’ eyes lit up and a smirk curled one corner of his mouth. “Well, so long as I have something to look forward to...”

Rayleigh was watching them in rapt fascination. “The things that are happening in this school,” he mused with distinct pleasure. “I’d begun to think a long life was a punishment of sorts, but this —this mare’s nest— is the sort of reward an old intelligence officer can really appreciate.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to the table to pick up his shoes. “As much as I would hate to leave you in the dark, I cannot, in good conscience, Commander, have this come to any sort of official notice.”

Rayleigh grimaced. “Bah. Bloody consciences. Fine. Her Majesty’s curiosity will just have to suffer.” Then he grinned. “Unofficially, however...”

Eames made a scoffing noise. “Can you even have a piddle without filing paperwork?”

His brows drawn together, Rayleigh tilted his head at Eames. “Are you _embarrassed_ , Eames? Didn’t know you had the capacity.”

“Listen, you...” Eames started hotly. Arthur reached out and pulled Eames over to him, holding his face and looking at him intently. Eames stared at him for a long moment and then let his shoulders slump. He leaned his forehead to touch Arthur’s. “You make me react like a teenager,” he murmured.

Arthur felt his mouth turn up. “Welcome to the club.”

Eames sighed and straightened, giving Rayleigh an apologetic nod. “I can _guarantee_ that you’d be happier not knowing. Or maybe just less conflicted.”

“That doesn’t fill me with the confidence I’d need to overlook anything,” Rayleigh said dryly.

Eames snorted. “Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

Arthur put a hand on Eames’ shoulder and started from the beginning.

Eames snickered as they left the flabbergasted Rayleigh shaking his head in the classroom. “He was warned. He really _didn’t_ want to know about your circus, petal.”

Arthur smiled. “I’ll send Dom to him to assist with the recovery effort. Dom will tell him all the places I went wrong, all the questionable decisions I made in haste.”

“Mmm. Come to my room for a nap, will you?”

Arthur inhaled deeply, a little startled at how much he wanted that. “Yes.”

Eames made a sound of satisfaction and tucked a key into Arthur’s hand. “Meet you there shortly, darling.”

Eames’ room was dimly lit, the drapes pulled shut and only one small lamp turned on low. The covers were already drawn back invitingly, even though Eames wasn’t yet in the room. Arthur stripped quickly, folding his clothes onto a chair, and moaned as he burrowed into the bed that was everything soft and warm and smelling of Eames.

He woke when the door clicked open, chagrined that he’d fallen asleep in the first place.

Eames locked the door behind him and came to sit on the edge of the bed, looking somewhat sick. Arthur slid over to touch the back of his hand. Eames stared down at him, pale and a little wild about the eyes. “Maurice Fischer waylaid me on the way here to ask if I knew anything about you. Showed me that picture of you they have associated with the price on your head, which they’ve tripled, by the by, and he asked if I could use any of my criminal connections to locate you.” Eames laughed once, a crazed sound. “Offered me anything, even my freedom, just for information on you.”

Arthur sighed, and tugged Eames down to the bed, kneeling over him and starting to strip his clothes off.

“You’re not even going to ask?” Eames demanded, watching him unbutton his trousers.

Arthur stilled his hands, resting them on Eames’ stomach, straddling his thighs. “I know how I feel when I’m trapped,” he said softly, staring at his fingers where they lay just touching the waistband of Eames’ trousers. “I know the frantic vibration that underscores every thought, every breath, the constant hunt for some way out. I know how it colors everything, that desperation.”

Eames grabbed his upper arms and sat up, pulling Arthur close to him. “Fischer wants you _dead_. The slower and messier, the better,” he hissed. “You are a breath away from being slaughtered every second you spend here!” He gave Arthur a shake, his face distraught. “How can you _do_ this?”

“I have good people around me, looking out for me,” Arthur said simply. “And we’re working on a fix. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have those frantic moments, but...” His fingers stroked along Eames’ stomach as a wry smile twisted his mouth. “I have other moments, with you, that more than make up for them.”

“Jesus, Arthur.” Eames pulled him down into a tight embrace. “I told him I’d consider looking into it,” he said, muffled against Arthur. “I didn’t want to cause any waves that we can avoid by telling him to go fornicate with a cactus.”

Arthur snorted. “How diplomatic of you.” He shifted so they were laying against each other, tugging at Eames’ clothes again. “Speaking of fornication, you don’t have any Thursday classes after lunch...”

Eames reluctantly let him go and propped himself up on an elbow, his face relaxing. A soft smile curved his luscious mouth as he stared down at Arthur, naked in his bed. “I do recall something about me doing all the work.”

Arthur rolled onto his back and squirmed a bit, raising a teasing eyebrow at Eames as he fondled himself. “Maybe not _all_ the work,” he murmured.

Eames licked his lips. “Oh no, petal, hands off. I _insist_ on doing all the work.” He shrugged out of his shirt and shoved his trousers and pants off as Arthur slowly lifted his arms above his head, stretching carefully and then bringing his knees up, feet flat on the bed and parted widely in invitation. “Jesus, Arthur, look at you.” He ran gentle hands along Arthur’s sides and legs, delicately exploring the edges of the various bruises.

Arthur made soft encouraging noises, writhing under Eames’ touch. Eames bent to take Arthur’s semi-soft cock into his mouth, sucking tenderly as Arthur filled and hardened against Eames’ tongue. Arthur groaned, tangling his fingers in the sheets above his head. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love how you do that?” he asked breathlessly.

Eames hummed around him and Arthur groaned again, his hips trying to come up off the bed. Eames held him down, gentle as he tried to press around bruises, then brought a hand to lay flat against Arthur’s stomach, a slight motion of his fingers encouraging him to relax.

Arthur took a deep, unsteady, inhale and tried to ease into the sensations, letting himself drift a little as Eames kept a slow, almost meditative suction going. He was still lost in the leisurely build of sensation and only roused a little when he felt Eames brush his fingers against his entrance.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Oh god, yes, Eames, inside me, please.”

Eames worked a slippery finger into him and generously spread lubricant while he mouthed at Arthur’s cock lightly, keeping his arousal at the same relaxed pitch. Arthur lazily writhed, his fingers combing through Eames’ hair in slow patterns. 

“Eames,” he finally murmured, shifting his hips. “In me.”

Eames pulled away with a last nuzzle and turned Arthur to lay on his unwounded side, quickly slicking his cock and settling behind him. He eased in, holding Arthur’s hips still as he pushed forward, and Arthur moaned as Eames settled against him and paused, panting a little.

Arthur reached back to hold him there until his breathing evened out and then, in perfectly accord, they started a gentle shared motion, a slow lazy press together and then away that only very gradually grew in speed, though never in force. Eames loosely curled his hand around Arthur’s cock, giving him a little delicious friction.

A mindless time later, Arthur’s orgasm rolled over him almost by surprise, and he let out a gasp as he came, feeling Eames shudder in response. Then Eames’ arms were around him and pulling him closer, his hips rocking gently against Arthur’s backside as he rode out the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

Arthur fell blissfully asleep again in Eames’ arms, content and warm and utterly relaxed.

He woke curled up like a child, face tucked into the curve of Eames’ shoulder. Eames laughed softly at the querulous noise Arthur made and ran his fingers through his hair. “Up with you, darling. We need to get some dinner into you.”

Arthur grumbled but uncurled to let Eames dress him, realizing the thief must have cleaned them both up at some point. “Eames.” He caught Eames’ hand and brought it to his face, dropping a kiss into his palm.

He was rewarded with the most unguarded look he thought he’d ever seen on Eames’ face — a soft smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners, a light dancing there as he leaned in and briefly kissed Arthur. Arthur gazed back at him and figured his heart was probably painted all over his face from the way Eames’ brows drew together slightly.

Then the forger smiled again and ducked his head. “Go get food, love,” he said as he buttoned Arthur’s shirt. “I’ll see you after.”

Maurice Fischer was sitting with Arthur’s pack in the dining room, watching Ariadne with a cautious amusement as she and Drake verbally sparred.

“Listen, sprat,” Drake finally said. “There’s only so much leeway you get before I gag you and turn you over to your boyfriend.”

“I thought _you_ were her boyfriend,” Fischer said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, ugh, he’s like a _brother_ ,” Ariadne yelped, face screwed up in disgust. “I just live for giving him a hard time.”

Drake snorted. “You wouldn’t survive it if I gave _you_ a hard time.”

“Eww, Drake, why do you always go for the lame sex humor?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” Yusuf said with a smirk as he tugged Ariadne closer and kissed her temple. “And an essentially lazy sense of humor. Although, this is really a case of pot-meet-kettle, Ari.” Ariadne gasped at Yusuf in betrayal, clutching invisible pearls, and Maurice Fischer glanced away, repressing a smile.

Arthur sat down beside Drake as Robert patted the redhead soothingly on the shoulder. “You’re only getting ganged up on because you deserve it,” Robert assured him with an affectionate grin. Drake gasped dramatically and clutched at his own invisible pearls while Ariadne nodded vigorously.

Tadashi eyed Arthur as Drake growled in the background. “You look like hell,” he said cheerfully, indicating, with a single eloquent gesture, Arthur’s swollen face and wrinkled clothing. “And Nurse Tildy’s seen you walking about without her sticking plasters and is headed over.”

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping as the nurse descended upon him. Maurice Fischer gave him a surprisingly sympathetic glance when she pulled out a fresh supply of bandages.

After dinner, everyone headed to the gym to watch Drake train, at Ariadne’s insistence. “Because who among us _doesn’t_ want to see Drake knocked onto his ass a bunch of times?”

“You should join in the training,” Arthur said. “You wanted to, after all.”Ariadne looked delighted at the prospect.

“Means you’ll be on _your_ pert little arse,” Drake pointed out, rolling his eyes when that failed to dim her enthusiasm.

Dom pulled Arthur aside before he entered the gym and just about dragged him into the orchard. “Eames,” Dom started to say, pulling out his phone.

“Has spoken with Maurice Fischer, yes, I know,” Arthur said, quelling his exasperation. Dom was only looking out for him, after all.

Dom studied him carefully. “I’m glad he told you about it, but I think you should see it.” He offered his phone, a video queued up and ready to play, and Arthur sighed and took it, knowing Dom would insist otherwise.

The video had been taken at some distance and there was no sound. Fischer and Eames were standing together outside of the building that held the teachers’ living quarters. Eames had his arms crossed, looking irritable, while Fischer waved a photograph about and then offered it to him. Eames took it, studying it as his face settled into inscrutability, then offered it back, shaking his head. Fischer grew angry, poking at the photograph while he snarled and then starting pacing, gesturing furiously. Arthur knew the exact moment Fischer moved away from offering money to offering Eames his freedom; a ravenous expression crossed the forger’s face before he controlled it. Fischer had seen it, of course, and slyly elaborated, leaning closer to Eames and stroking the photograph with an almost lecherous finger while he spoke. Eames shrugged, glancing off-handedly at the photo again, and nodded. Fischer said something strongly, demanding, and Eames flashed him a glare before controlling it. He crossed his arms again and nodded at the photo in Fischer’s hand and spoke briefly, prompting a look of satisfaction on Fischer’s face before he nodded decisively and turned to walk away. Eames watched him go, expressionless, until Fischer turned a corner and then there was a flash of snarling hatred so strong Arthur found himself holding the phone a little further away. It was quickly hidden and then Eames was walking off in the direction of the gardens, the beginnings of the sick look on his face that Arthur had woken up to earlier.

He exhaled and handed the phone back to Dom. “So?”

“You didn’t tell me he felt anything for you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it — his jaw fell open and he stared at Dom.

“Your handler’s either barking or he’s having you on,” Eames said from behind him, his voice unamused, as he came to lean against Arthur’s back, his hands gently resting on Arthur’s hips. “Why would Arthur work so hard at a relationship with someone who didn’t feel anything for him, you knobhead?” he said directly to Dom.

“Arthur doesn’t do relationships,” Dom said, staring at Eames. “Or at least, he never has. Until now.”

“Jesus, Dom.” Arthur shut his eyes. “Can you stop now?”

Eames made a small scornful sound. ”Or is now when you threaten me with bodily harm if Arthur gets hurt?”

“No, now is when I threaten you with the resources and attention of an entire mercenary company that owes Arthur for its continued existence, as well as those within it who like and respect him.”

Eames’ hands tensed and then relaxed on Arthur’s hips, and Arthur turned his head in time to see a strange smile passing across his face. “Then there doesn’t seem to be any argument, Cobb.”

“I will personally murder you, though, if you hurt him,” Dom added, squinting at him while Arthur pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Yes, yes, consider your point _made_ , Cobb.” Eames’ tone was mocking, but his hands were softly stroking along Arthur’s sides.

“Hmm.” Dom studied them both as Arthur dropped his hands to glare, then nodded to himself. “Go do relationship...things...or something. You’re not needed in there tonight.” He flipped a dismissive hand at them and strode off toward the gym.

Arthur blew out a breath. “I’m sorry...”

“Darling, you’re not responsible for your insane friend. Now shut it and come back to bed.”

A little before midnight, there was a knock on Eames’ door. Eames reached for his gun but Arthur stopped him, listening hard, then smiled. “Throw on some clothes,” he said, pulling on his uniform shirt and trousers quickly and going for the door.

“Matte, matte, matte, chotto matte, okaa-san (Wait, wait, wait, just a sec, mom)!” Tadashi was saying into a cell phone as the door opened. “Arthur...” Tears were streaming down his beautiful face but he was grinning as Arthur pulled him in and shut the door.

Eames flipped on a lamp as he settled a robe around himself, and settled in the chair by the window, well out of range of Tadashi’s phone when Arthur pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed, next to him.

Tadashi turned the phone so both he and Arthur could see the screen. He was on a video call with a lovely but somewhat frail-looking Japanese woman, obviously his mother, who was smiling through her own tears, morning light streaming through a huge window behind her and illuminating a serene and generous sitting room. Through the window, Arthur could see what looked like a traditional-style garden.

“Mom, this is Arthur,” Tadashi said in English. “Arthur, this is my mother, Chibana Akiko. Formerly Griffiths,” he added fiercely.

“Chibana-san,” Arthur murmured with a quick nod.

“Mom’s safe in Japan, Arthur, and Saito-san has given her a home on his own estate in Kyoto, and has asked her to begin teaching the children at the estate school.”

“Arthur-san,” the woman said softly, demurely. “We are most grateful for your help.”

“I wish that I could take any credit for this, but Tadashi and Saito...”

Her gaze sharpened and suddenly Arthur saw Tadashi in her - the quick intelligence, the humor, and the pride - and he laughed. “Chibana-sama, clearly your deliverance is of _your_ making, however delayed. Tadashi is a well-forged weapon of your own design, and Saito has no idea what he’s in for, does he?”

She smiled, proud. “My son, when he has a choice in the matter, has quite refined tastes in his partners, but even he did not contemplate such a windfall. We anticipated that he would have to endure for another few years before we could redress the wrongs done and gain our freedom.” Her gaze settled on Tadashi and she went soft and gentle. “He has endured much, Arthur-san.”

Tadashi lifted his chin. “Nothing to what you have endured, okaa-san (mom). I could do no less.”

She looked down, tears falling again though her face was composed. “I regret the necessity.”

“ _We_ decided on it,” Tadashi said. “ _We_ planned it. Together. And now we are nearly done.”

“Yes.” She drew a deep breath. “You have the information I sent. You’ll give it to Robert Fischer?”

“Yes.” Tadashi grinned savagely as he said it. “Daisuki, okaa-san (Love you, mom).”

“Daisukidayo (Love you),” she said with an answering sharp smile and ended the call.

Tadashi turned and threw himself into Arthur’s arms. “Thank you,” he said, muffled against Arthur, who exhaled hard and wrapped around Tadashi, gently petting his back. “Thank you for destroying Eric, thank you for bringing me to Saito, thank you for being so incredible. We thought we would have to wait years before we could make it safe to start real lives.”

Eames had been watching, an odd look on his face as Arthur held Tadashi. “I take it you’re tossing your old man under the bus.”

Tadashi snickered, then laughed outright, rolling away from Arthur to slide to the floor at his feet and lean his face against Arthur’s thigh, smiling at Eames. Arthur very tentatively laid a hand on Tadashi’s head and he sighed happily in response, curling a hand around Arthur’s ankle. “Now that mom is safe, we can pass along the proof that my father and Eric’s father are working together to slip Cobol very sensitive information about Fischer-Morrow, in exchange for fucktonnes of money. Maurice Fischer, no matter what deal he’s working with them, is going to have seven kinds of kittens when he hears about it.”

Eames got a very thoughtful look going. “You and I and Robert need to have a chat tomorrow before he turns that over to his father. We could parley this into exactly the right kind of leverage to get the price lifted off Arthur’s head, among other things.”

Tadashi’s eyes lit up and he nodded. “That...would be _ideal_.” Then he turned his face to hide against Arthur’s thigh and sighed. “I either woke you or interrupted you,” he said wistfully, his lips moving the fabric of the trousers along Arthur’s skin.

Eames snorted and pushed out of the chair, bending to sling an arm around Tadashi’s waist before lifting him to hang, flailing in an undignified fashion, over his arm and walk toward the door.

Tadashi squeaked as he was lifted and then started laughing. “Yes, Mr Eames, I understand quite clearly, Mr Eames!”

Eames opened his door and peered outside before depositing Tadashi in a pile on the hallway floor. “ _My_ Arthur,” he said firmly, and closed and locked the door.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, trying to restrain the smile that kept breaking out. “Yours?”

Eames advanced on him, letting his robe slip off to puddle on the rug. “Mine.”

With Eames so intent, Arthur was disinclined to argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Matte, matte, matte, chotto matte, okaa-san (Wait, wait, wait, just a sec, mom)  
> okaa-san (mom)  
> Daisuki, okaa-san (Love you, mom)  
> Daisukidayo (Love you)


	18. Friday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maurice Fischer joins them for breakfast and they find out he is leaving very shortly, Drake overhears something devastating (but Ariadne saves the day), Maurice Fischer receives extremely unpleasant news, and the team plans the dream.

**Friday Next**

Maurice Fischer joined them for breakfast and Arthur was amused to watch him notice that, although the sons and daughters of Fischer executives nodded respectfully at Maurice Fischer, powerful CEO, they _also_ nodded at Robert and a few of them came over to have brief but quiet and serious discussions with him.

Maurice, now seeing it, lapped it up like a particularly smug cat with cream.

Arthur settled between Drake and Tadashi, who elbowed him gently in the ribs with a smirk and then apologized at Arthur’s wince. Robert’s father glanced over indulgently, nodding to Arthur, and then turned his attention to Drake as his son leaned close to say something softly to the redhead. Arthur knew Drake was aware of the scrutiny from the slight tension in his body, but that didn’t stop the flicker of warmth that passed over his face when Robert touched his forearm lightly.

Maurice Fischer watched with a look of faint distaste, quickly controlled, but Arthur saw Robert pull into his shell, back stiff and face settling into a bland look as he pushed his breakfast around his plate.

Arthur leaned forward to distract the homophobic prick. “Mr Fischer? How long are you staying, sir? I heard yesterday that there’ll be a field trip to a clays shooting range on Sunday.” He’d hit the right note with that; Fischer actually looked wistful.

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning, unfortunately. Perhaps someone will document the trip so that I can see how Robert fares?”

“Of course, sir,” Arthur said, nodding. He’d expected Robert to become even more tense at the implication of having to prove himself, but the young man relaxed instead. Arthur smiled to himself. He’d bet Robert was a crack shot.

Ariadne raised an eyebrow at Arthur and mouthed _tonight then?_ He nodded, glanced at each member of his pack and got a quick nod of acknowledgement from each while Fischer went to get a second round from the buffet.

Arthur texted Dom. **MF leaving tomorrow.**

 ** _Fuck_** , he got back. **_Ack heads up._**

Arthur snorted.

Ariadne and Mal had their heads together in French class when he walked in. Mal smiled at Arthur and Ari broke away to come sit with him.

“Mal says we need to decide what concepts we’ll try to push on Mr Fischer because she and I will need at least a little time to build, so be thinking about it, okay?”

“Yep. Already in process. When you see Tadashi today, see if he or Robert can get pics of Fischer’s office. It’ll need to be modified or redecorated to look like it’s Robert’s, some years in the future.”

She grinned, punching his arm affectionately. “I knew it! I was watching you watching them, and figured you were plotting.”

“Just observing. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He was mildly alarmed by the idolizing look she was giving him. “Ari, we’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah, but Arthur, you literally sat down and coolly ate breakfast with a man who is paying unbelievable amounts of money to have you hunted down and killed and you have actual conversations with him and everything! Like it’s nothing at all! _God_ , I wanna be you when I grow up!”

He rolled his eyes. “I thought you wanted to be Mal.”

“I don’t have to choose,” she sniffed with a blithe stubbornness. “Jeez, Arthur, catch up with the times.”

Mal snorted indelicately.

In Art class, Eames gave him one burning look, quickly veiled, and then proceeded to tease him, in front of the amused class, about his ‘documentary-like’ photos. “It’s like you’re taking shots for an official school brochure, Darling.”

Arthur, who hadn’t bothered taking any pictures since all their plans had changed, sighed. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe not everyone is an artist, Mr Eames? Are you holding everyone to this impossible standard?”

There was a general noise of agreement from the entire class and Eames tossed his head back and laughed.

“Well, that’s me told then,” he grinned. “Nonetheless, maybe I should take you around the grounds a bit and show you what I mean.” He shrugged. “Or you could settle for a lower grade...”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

Ariadne applauded. “Well done, Mr Eames, that’s pretty much what ‘challenge accepted’ looks like in real life.” The class broke up.

Arthur was heading for lunch when he saw Drake leaning against the wall next to an open classroom door and heard Maurice Fischer’s voice from inside.

“...kind of relationship won’t get you any respect and will hurt your reputation!”

Robert’s voice, when he replied, was cool and even. “Father, you yourself taught me about creating emotional connections with close employees to ensure their loyalty. If Marcus is in love with me, then shouldn’t I encourage that hope in him, knowing that he will be more trustworthy for it? What he considers a relationship is very different from what you and I understand.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Drake, who looked stricken. Arthur frowned at him and shook his head.

“After all, father, even in his wildest fantasies, even were I willing to have such a relationship in reality, it could never lead to anything permanent, could it? I will need an heir, after all.”

Fischer’s voice was warm. “You _do_ understand.”

Drake leaned his forehead against the wall. When Arthur touched his shoulder, he shrugged away angrily.

“Of course.” Robert sighed. “You’ve put a great deal of effort into teaching me better, and I think I’ve finally begun to take that seriously. I’m grateful that you allowed me to be childish so long, but it’s time I grew up.”

“Do you think you’re ready for more responsibility?” Fischer’s voice had a cautious tone.

A quiet huff of laughter. “Surely that is _your_ decision to make, father. I would like to take enough time to get Marcus trained. And there are some connections here I’d like to firm up; some of the other young people should prove to be very useful in the future.”

“I had thought to move you to one of the branch headquarters in a month or so. You could finish your schooling with tutors and remote classes,” Fischer mused. “It’s really the university education that will draw respect, after all, and until then, you’d acquire some valuable hands-on experience.”

“Well...” Robert sounded shy and uncertain. “You see...there _is_ this girl. She’s from a good family and very pretty...”

Drake closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, turning to lean back against the wall and wrap his arms around himself. Arthur shoved him, glaring, and frowned when Drake bared his teeth in a snarl at him.

Fischer laughed, a strange cackle that combined pride and coarseness. “I should have known! Do I get to meet this...possibility?”

“I’ll certainly point her out to you, but I’m having her and her family quietly investigated before I make any serious approach. I...wouldn’t want to make any mistakes.”

“Well, I’m relieved, my boy. It sounds like you’re going about all this the right way. If you think you might be serious about her, let’s just have you stay the rest of the school year and graduate here.”

Robert blew out a relieved breath. “I’m very glad to hear you agree with my course of action. If you have any advice...”

Fischer laughed coarsely again. “I think I’ll let you fumble around a bit first.”

“Um. That...” Robert sounded awkward and then smoothed out his voice. “Ha. Sorry, father, I wasn’t expecting a joke.”

There was a gentle thump of a sound, as if Maurice Fischer had clapped his son on the shoulder. “If she meets standards, make sure you take her for a few test runs before you get serious. You wouldn’t want to end up with a cold fish like your mother was.”

Drake lifted his head, incredulous and furious.

“No, father.” Robert was calm and even. “I wouldn’t want that. Thank you.”

Fischer’s voice was still warm. “Go get some lunch, my boy, I have some calls to make.”

“Yes, father. Make sure you get some food as well.”

“I will. Listen...”

“Yes?” Robert sounded patient and attentive.

“That Drake boy will be very useful to you. You want him attached to you but...”

“Discretion. Yes, I understand. I have him so wrapped up that he’ll agree to _anything_ , father. I think I have it under control.”

“That’s my boy,” Fischer said with pleased approval.

Drake’s face twisted with fury and he strode off down the corridor. Robert emerged from the classroom and looked confused to see Arthur, then glanced around in time to catch sight of Drake turning the corner at the end of the hallway. He went pale and turned back to Arthur, his face pleading. Arthur dragged him down the hallway in the opposite direction and outside.

“Yes, Drake heard everything,” he confirmed brutally as he pulled Robert in the direction of the orchard. “But he’s not entirely an idiot. He _knows_ you didn’t mean it, it was just hard for him to hear.”

Robert stared at him with huge eyes, abruptly at the end of his rope, and Arthur pulled him into a hug. “Hey. Stop. _Stop_. This is just a minor bump in the road, okay?”

Robert clung to him, his hands twisted in Arthur’s clothing, his face buried on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur let out a soundless sigh, petting his back in long soothing strokes.

“He already means that much to you, hmm?” Arthur murmured, staring at the leaves overhead with an unfocused gaze. Robert gave him a jerky nod, taking in a shaky breath.

“He knew you were going to lie to your father, yes?” Robert nodded again as Arthur continued to pet his back. “Because you promised to talk stuff out together, I know. But there’s a lot going on right now, isn’t there?”

Robert lifted his head to stare wildly at Arthur. “How are you reassuring _me_ right now? My father wants you dead!”

“Robert.” Arthur smiled at him. “Focus.”

Robert’s face crumpled spectacularly. “I feel like I can’t live without him, and I _know_ that’s not true, but I feel...”

“Overwhelmed,” Arthur murmured. “Happy when he’s there and missing him when he’s not. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, panicked at the thought of screwing it up permanently...”

Robert was staring at him, and Arthur let his mouth twist in a wry smile.

“Goddammit, Drake, you huge ginger moron, do _not_ make me drag you in here by the short-and-curlies!” Ariadne’s voice was crystal clear from the path that lead to the orchard. “You are such an _idiot_ , you idiot. Get _in_ here. Get in here _now_ , or I’ll...”

They heard Drake growl, but it seemed a weak thing compared to his normal snarl.

“Arthur?” Ariadne called out as she stomped down the path.

“I can’t believe I can hear her stomping,” Robert whispered. “She’s tiny.”

“But fierce.” Arthur chuckled and raised his voice. “Here, Ari!”

Ariadne appeared on the path, dragging the much larger Drake along by the hand. She was leaning forward into the pull, her face determined, and he was leaning back, scowling, with enough resistance to make her work for it.

Arthur burst out laughing. He’d once seen a tugboat towing a container ship around a harbor, but that hard-working tug had had nothing on Ariadne’s tenacity and resolve.

Drake gave him a ferocious glower, but when he caught sight of Robert past Arthur’s shoulder, his face softened for just a flash before it went stubborn and sullen as he looked away.

Ariadne reached up and slapped his shoulder. “God, you’re stupid! Open your big dumb mouth and _ask_ him, twit-weasel.”

Robert stepped around Arthur to stand in front of Drake, his heart in his eyes. “Did you really think I _meant_ all that, my wolf?” he asked quietly.

Drake looked back at him, the closed-off look melting away to show hurt and fear. “It sounded...real.”

“I’ve had to get good at lying to my father,” Robert said, dropping his gaze, shoulders slumping. “We did talk about this...” He trailed off and started to drift back. “But I understand if...”

“No!” Drake hauled him back, panicked, and wrapped around him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he breathed into Robert’s hair. “Robby, please...”

Arthur took Ariadne’s hand and pulled her away, walking out of the orchard with her. “Stop smirking, GPS, it isn’t your most flattering look.”

“Bullshit,” she announced happily, swinging their hands back and forth. “I look amazing when I smirk.”

He snorted. “How did you know this was going on?”

Her face went gentle. “He came right to me in the dining room and sat down looking like the world was ending. But he wouldn’t tell me anything until I dragged him outside.” She scowled. “He’s an idiot for ever doubting!”

Arthur squeezed her hand lightly. “Sometimes things get...complex. Relationships don’t always work out the way you want them to, even with the best of intentions.”

She stopped dead, pulling him to a halt with her, and yanked on his hand to get him to turn. “Don’t tell me you’re doubting Eames.”

He smiled down at her. “Not doubting, no. But I think it’s natural to have fears.”

“Don’t pull any fatalistic bullshit on me,” she said firmly. “I’ve never actually _seen_ love at first sight before and I would have sworn that it didn’t exist.”

He laughed at her. “You sound like you’re almost eighty instead of almost eighteen. There’s a lot in the world you haven’t seen.”

“Arthur...” she growled warningly and set her jaw, stubborn and scowling.

He exhaled noisily. “Ari, I love him, okay? And I know he loves me because he’s told me so, and I can see it for myself. But there’s a lot that can happen in our lines of work, and there’s more ways the world can interfere than I really want to think about. We’re...doing the best we can and seeing what happens.”

She relaxed. “Jeez, don’t scare me like that. I thought you were working up to ‘letting him go for his own good’ or some idiocy like that.”

“No.” He smiled and looked down, and closed his mouth on anything else. It was still too new, and too tender, and fears rose all the time like ground fog on clammy mornings, but they’d sworn to talk before changing anything, and he trusted their intentions even if their implementation was less than perfect. It would take a lot to make him doubt Eames in anything more than a superficial way.

That it left him open to deeper wounds than he’d ever taken before...well. On a purely practical note, wounds were either survivable or not, and, once you’d made what plans you could, you went ahead despite whatever your fears might be, and accepted the consequences. It was how he’d lived his life so far, but it was definitely harder when you had someone else to consider.

He squeezed Ariadne’s hand reassuringly and led her back to the dining hall for lunch.

After classes, Robert brought his father to the gym to watch Drake drill with Dom and the two trainers. Mal showed up with Ariadne in tow, and proceeded to put her through a workout off to the side. Maurice Fischer cast an unfriendly look in Mal’s direction and shuffled his chair pointedly so that he couldn’t see her.

Tadashi came in with Yusuf; Yusuf wandered over to watch his girlfriend and Tadashi plopped himself down next to Arthur, grinning widely.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him and Tadashi waggled his in return. “Wait and see,” he whispered. “The fireworks should be fucking _magnificent_.”

Arthur turned his head slightly to surreptitiously watch Maurice Fischer and was rewarded shortly when Fischer’s phone notified him of an email. There was a video attached, and Fischer frowned at it a moment before putting in earphones.

Tadashi jiggled his leg excitedly even though his face was calm and serene.

And then Fischer was exploding out of his chair, face red and congested, spitting obscenities at his phone. Everything in the gym stopped as everyone turned to look at him and Robert rose to touch his arm very lightly. Maurice hauled him outside, still cursing. Drake shoved a trainer away and went to stand in the doorway, watching what was happening outside without joining the scene. Arthur came to stand beside him and was aware of Tadashi very close behind, peering between their shoulders and whispering an explanation.

“Nash sent Fischer a recorded video message. He’s found better prospects elsewhere, with a rival, for a lot more money, of course. He doesn’t specify in the video, but the message is slanted as if it’s Cobol. In reality, Saito made him a completely ridiculous offer to jump ship, claiming he was impressed by how Nash weaseled his way into Fischer’s graces, and then arranged the recording, telling Nash he should be as smug as he liked. There’s nothing manipulated or edited about it, in case Fischer tests it.” Tadashi huffed a sly laugh. “It’s just that halfwit Mr Nash failed to enquire beforehand _exactly_ what the specifications of this absurd job _were_. Greedy as fuck little pillocks deserve what they get.”

Both Arthur and Drake looked away from where Fischer was dancing about in rage to stare at Tadashi. The young man grinned. “It’s been entirely too much fun hacking into Nash’s accounts. He’ll disappear but his presence will endure long enough to persuade Fischer, among others, of his continued existence. And in the meantime, Saito believes it’ll prime Fischer to turn against Cobol.”

Arthur fought down a grin. “And Robert will have just the information needed to shove Fischer right off that cliff.”

Tadashi smiled sleekly. “Mr Eames and I sat down with Robert earlier and made plans.” He nodded towards the Fischers, who were moving off toward Robert’s dorm building, and then he turned around to go back into the gym.

Drake shook his head in wonder. “This is a dangerous team, Arthur.”

Arthur felt like smiling sleekly himself.

Robert met them for dinner in the dining hall, outwardly somber, but practically vibrating with hidden excitement. “He is so furious,” he said, settling next to Drake and leaning into him. “He’s trying to have Lukas’ location tracked down and all his access cut off.”

“I know,” Tadashi said smugly, not looking up from the laptop perched on the table, his fingers flying over the keys. “They’re trying _so_ hard. Really, it was just stupid to give him all that access anyway, even though Nash didn’t know what to do with it.”

Robert raised an eyebrow, watching Tadashi’s screen. “But you do.” It wasn’t a question.

Tadashi flashed him a sly look. “I’m not going to hurt your company and I’m not leaving it open to Saito, either. You’re my friend and I won’t fuck with your things. I’m just having a bit of a nose around, maybe dropping a few incriminating things to blame on Nash. Not even made-up stuff. It’s all stuff Nash told Saito. You’re well rid of him, honestly.”

He finished typing with a flourish and watched a log file scroll past, narrowing his eyes at it and then nodding in satisfaction before looking up at Robert and smirking. “Saito has said that he’d like to see Cobol erased from the face of the earth but that he’s interested to see where you plan to take Fischer-Morrow.”

“As long as I take over sooner rather than later?” Robert asked wryly.

Tadashi grinned. “You do realize that there’s no reason this team shouldn’t turn its attention to that little problem once we’re done with our immediate concerns.” Robert blinked and Tadashi rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Arthur. We. Are. A. Team. Got it, mate?”

Robert looked down, taking a deep breath, and Drake laughed softly. “That means ‘Oh. Umm, no, I hadn’t realised that,’” Drake said, smiling at Robert with wistful affection. “You’re not alone anymore, remember?”

“I’m working on it,” Robert replied with a sudden brilliant smile.

They all met in Robert’s room after dinner. Mal handed him a small vial with a nod when she walked in and then took a seat.

“Right,” Dom said, turning off his silly smile when he looked away from her, at which Ariadne snorted and nudged Saito, who was standing beside her. Saito let a look of amusement flit across his face and raised a pointed eyebrow at Dom who scowled lightly and crossed his arms. “Anyway,” he said, lifting his chin. “What are our plans for tonight?”

“Arthur requested pictures of my father’s office,” Robert offered.

“And asked for them to be sorta modernized,” Ariadne added. “Futurized? Made to look like the office would when it’s Robert’s. So we got with Robert on his taste, and here’s what we came up with.”

Tadashi had plugged a small portable projector into his laptop and threw the before and after pictures up on a wall.

Drake raised and eyebrow at the result. “It’s gonna be seven kinds of creepy if your office actually ends up looking like that.”

Robert was smiling at it. “I love it. I’m going to hire Ariadne to do this when it’s time.”

Eames got up to look more closely at the images and then turned to grin at Arthur.

“But why?” Saito was asking. “What use is it to show him a possible future...” He trailed off, then nodded slowly.

“Because,” Eames said, “Maurice Fischer is deeply concerned with continuity. So in order for him to trust Robert, the ideas we incept him with have to address that. Something like ‘my son admires me and wants to follow in my footsteps.’” He nodded at the image displayed on the wall and winked at Arthur, who raised a cool eyebrow at him.

“And is taking steps to ensure that,” Tadashi added.

Mal tapped her mouth thoughtfully. “D'accord (Good). Which means we need to show him scenes that elicit positive emotions around these ideas. Scenes of the past with Robert looking up to his father, scenes of the present with Robert doing things that Maurice would approve of, scenes of the future...”

Eames pointed at Arthur, still grinning. “Which this sly git already has covered. Tadashi, care to enlarge the image of this particular portion of future-Robert’s future office wall?”

Tadashi laughed out loud and did so, zooming in to the framed birth certificate Eames was indicating.

Drake snorted and gave Robert’s shoulder a gentle shove. “We are _never_ naming our son Maurice.” Ariadne squealed and clapped her hands as Robert went wide-eyed, blushing furiously, before ducking into Drake’s embrace.

“It’s something that would mean a great deal to my father,” Robert mumbled.

Dom hummed thoughtfully. “For this to be effective, Maurice will have to _look_ for something to persuade himself. We should put the birth certificate in a safe in the office and let him discover it.”

“Make sure there’s a big framed portrait of him on the wall,” Robert said, peering at Ariadne but not leaving Drake’s arms. “Positioned so that anyone sitting in the chair has my father’s portrait hanging right over and behind them.”

Drake brushed a kiss against Robert’s temple and turned him around, embracing him from behind and resting his chin on top of his head. “You’ll also need a family photograph on the desk — you, some pretty bint, and the imaginary sprat.”

“We’ve only got tonight,” Dom said thoughtfully. “We’re going to need to narrow it down a bit. How about a scene in the present where Robert is holding court, so to speak, but during it we mention something about the past.”

Robert hummed. “I did go through a phase as a child where the only clothes I’d wear were copies of my father’s wardrobe. My father claimed to find it silly and embarrassing, but it took a while for him to put a stop to it.”

“That would be incredibly endearing and flattering from a child,” Saito said neutrally.

“How does he express so much disapproval of your da without actually expressing anything?” Drake demanded. “Robby, take notes.”

Robert shook his head while smiling at Saito. “No point. It’ll be years before I achieve anything approaching his gravitas.”

Saito regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head. “I believe you will come into your own soon enough.” Robert kept his chin up even as a faint blush spread across his cheekbones.

“As adorable as this is,” Mal broke in, “Ariadne and I will need a little time to build this, so a decision would be welcome.”

Ariadne looked thoughtful and unfocused as she leaned back against Yusuf. “Let’s have someone bring Maurice into the school, only it’s this old feudal stone castle where current Robert is literally holding court as a king.”

Yusuf snorted. “We don’t want to turn it into a costume drama, do we?”

“Umm. So maybe a business suit with a crown?” Ariadne frowned. “You’re right, it shouldn’t be totally fantastical, but with elements, maybe?”

Saito rubbed his chin. “Start with a throne room with modern business wear. There should be dozens of students scattered about, some clearly waiting to speak to Robert.”

“Better add some simpering girls,” Drake put in.

Ariadne glared at him. “I hate that you’re right, but there’s going to be serious ones, too, you bastard. And you’ll have to be there, in tactical gear, standing protectively at his shoulder.”

Drake snorted. “Fine, then you can be the handmaiden in a sleek business suit who brings Robert coffee and encourages him to tell wistful stories about his father and all the training he’s given him.”

Ariadne looked mutinous until Eames put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s right though, Ari. Maurice Fischer would eat that up.”

Mal smirked. “That means Yusuf is the court wizard, then.”

“Can I have a robe with stars rather than a business suit?”

“Business-casual for the wizard,” Arthur said with a smile. “Maybe a sweater, sorry, jumper, with stars on it over the oxford and tie.”

“Needs either the hat or a staff,” Drake mused. “I vote a big staff. With a knob on the end, of course.”

“Knob-head,” Yusuf muttered.

Drake grinned at him. “I’ve not heard the GPS complaining so I’m _sure_ you’ve nothing to overcompensate for.”

“You will want to imply connections, networks,” Saito broke in smoothly as Ariadne opened her mouth. “I would suggest servants bringing in a large boardroom conference table and having Robert begin a meeting.”

“Why don’t you show up at this dream meeting?” Tadashi asked Saito, fighting down a smirk while Ariadne simmered. “That’s demonstrating some serious networking.”

Saito tilted his head in thought. “I am concerned about implying that Robert is going behind his father’s back to speak with me. That would undermine our efforts.”

Robert nodded. “He would think that.”

Arthur leaned forward. “And then we lead him through a door into the future office where Robert is working at the desk. We’ll need to have Eames forge an older version of you so it doesn’t look like we want your father to drop dead anytime soon.”

“Though we do,” Eames said dryly.

“Shut up, Eames. Then older Robert should leave the office for something, leaving Maurice to wander around and look at things.”

Dom nodded. “The birth certificate, the portrait, the picture of the hypothetical family...”

“The oversized monitor screens showing the exaggerated financial details of the company,” Saito added with a sly flick of an eyebrow. Robert laughed.

Yusuf frowned. “So it’s to be a sort of **A Christmas Carol** dream? Where Fischer is led about by the ghosts of Christmas present and future?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes. And that’s _perfect_. Saito, you’ll be the conductor of this dream. That way, Maurice Fischer doesn’t see you as influencing Robert, but rather as someone admiring from a distance. Not a threat, but a reassurance and a hint at future possibilities.”

“I _like_ this,” Mal said and gestured to Ariadne. “Chère (Dear), let us begin, we are short on time.”

Robert looked at the vial he was holding and nodded. “I should go take my father a nightcap. I’ll wait for you in his room.” He stepped away from Drake with reluctance, then turned back and tugged him down for a kiss before slipping out of his room without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Ariadne stepped over to give Drake a quick squeeze around the middle. “Big dumb ginger goofus,” she muttered at him before going back to Mal. Drake looked down and smiled.

Arthur glanced around the room. Dom was standing very close behind Mal, listening to her explain a theory to Ariadne, his hands on her waist. Yusuf had come over to sit next to Ariadne, his leg against hers, while he scrolled through something on his phone before turning it to show Drake, gesturing him over.

Tadashi was intently typing on his laptop with Saito bent over him, watching, hands resting lightly on Tadashi’s shoulders, speaking in soft Japanese with a faint smile playing about his mouth. Tadashi grinned at something he said and nodded, looking delightedly happy. Arthur thought it funny that they were only discussing fictional profit margins and other financial markers.

He sighed as Eames slid his arms around him from behind, encouraging him to lean back, his mouth brushing little kisses behind Arthur’s ear. Arthur closed his eyes and relaxed into the embrace, letting his head rest on Eames’ shoulder and inhaling deeply of Eames’ warm scent.

“I’m impressed,” Eames murmured.

“Mmm. By what?”

“Your matchmaking skills. Unless you’re really Cupid, in which case, I call cheating.”

Arthur opened his eyes. “The only pair I deliberately orchestrated was Ari and Yusuf, and that was mainly out of fear of Ariadne.” Across the room, Ariadne flipped him an obscene gesture without looking away from where Mal was drawing something in a notebook.

Eames chuckled. “So Yusuf was a sacrifice to save your own cowardly skin?”

“Hell yes. Better him than me when it comes to wrangling a wild pixie sprite.” Yusuf and Ariadne both gestured obscenely at him without looking away from what they were doing, and Drake snickered.

“Drake and Robert made their own connection,” Arthur said, sighing as Eames rubbed slow circles over his belly.

“Only because of you,” Drake said. “I’d been pining for yonks and Robby’d figured he was on his own. Wasn’t until you came along that we happened.”

Eames chuckled. “And Mal and your boy Cobb there; that’s because of you even if you didn’t do anything deliberately.”

“I refuse to take any blame when she recognizes him for the crazy bastard he really is and is inevitably forced to take violent measures.” Mal ignored him regally but Dom sent a fierce squint in his direction.

“Nah,” Eames said softly. “Those two will be married before the school year’s up.”

“Oh good, because I can’t even begin to express how weird it is to play his wingman in bars.”

Eames laughed, his breath huffing past Arthur’s cheek, and Arthur shivered in want. “Are we skipping blithely past Saito and Tadashi?” the forger murmured.

Arthur lifted his head to glare at that pair, discovering that Saito had let a single finger shift to touch the skin of Tadashi’s throat, above the collar of his shirt. Tadashi was still typing but his head was tilted just a little. “Yes, because they are _not_ together since Tadashi is not legal and Saito is not really a predator of underage students.”

They both gave him looks of amusement. “I will be eighteen in less than two months,” Tadashi said. “You can’t think that makes any difference.”

“And we are not having a sexual relationship in any case. Yet,” Saito added, serene smile in place even as he lightly stroked that single finger just above Tadashi’s collar. Tadashi’s smile curled up a notch and then he winked at Arthur and turned back to the laptop.

Eames snorted. “If looks could kill, Saito’d be ashes. Tadashi is not a wide-eyed victim and that is _not_ a predator/prey relationship. Well, except as they want it to be.” Arthur made a quiet noncommittal noise and Eames leaned away a little to look at him. “Oh,” he said very softly. “Oh Arthur. So this isn’t about Tadashi being perfectly capable of taking care of himself and making adult decisions.”

He moved so that his mouth was touching Arthur’s ear before he spoke and Arthur shuddered at the contact and the stir of breath. “You’re giving him the overprotective family he never had. That you never had.” His hands spread over Arthur’s chest and stomach in a guarding and claiming motion.

Arthur gritted his teeth in an attempt to control his arousal. “I will fuck you over Robert’s desk in front of everyone if you don’t shut it right now,” he hissed as quietly as he could.

Eames laughed almost soundlessly and kissed the corner of his jaw before letting him go, but Arthur had felt Eames’ cock respond against his backside, so he considered parity to have been achieved.

“Are we ready?” Mal asked, glancing up. “Text with Creator's Style turned off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> D’accord (Good)  
> Chère (Dear)  
> Allons-y (Let’s go)


	19. Still Friday Next and Saturday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they dream, and then reveal Tadashi's information.

**Still Friday Next**

Mal’s projections didn’t appear to be at all bothered by the contrast of the medieval trappings with modern clothing and amenities.

Robert’s throne was a beautifully carved wooden chair, upholstered in a dark chocolate leather. It also reclined, and Robert laughed when he sat in it. The stone walls were hung with magnificent tapestries that served as backdrops for computer stations. There was a bountiful coffee and snack station and if the samovar owed more to imperialist Russia than to modern day, Arthur thought, then at least its incongruity was overshadowed by the boxes of doughnuts.

Drake brushed off part of his matte-black tactical gear and looked around. “I feel like we’re in one of those fringe productions where they decide to put on Shakespeare in a cyberpunk setting or something.”

Dom, in his role as door guard, cleared his throat and opened the door.

Yusuf wandered through and went for the doughnuts, eventually drifting up to them with powdered sugar on his caduceus-spangled sweater. Ariadne brushed him off impatiently, giving him an exasperated look which he returned with a comfortable grin. “I managed to get your hands on me, didn’t I?”

“Where’s your staff?” Drake asked, smirking as Ariadne fussed and straightened Yusuf’s clothing.

Yusuf raised an eyebrow at him. “In my pants, but if you’re that desperate...”

Robert coughed, setting his cup of coffee down.

Drake patted him helpfully on the back. “They’re coming right along, aren’t they? I’m so proud.”

Dom cleared his throat dramatically and the projections started moving about with purpose.

“Right,” Ariadne said, pulling out a tablet and stylus. “Time to look competent. Drake, you’ll be fine with your mouth shut, just look threatening. Or normal. That works too.”

Robert covered his mouth with his fingers and gestured several projections forward. Tadashi joined them, waiting in line to speak to Robert. There were a handful of serious-looking girls in business wear, but most of the rest wore party dresses and spent their time peacocking around the room, casting significant glances at Robert. Ariadne did her best not to glower too hard at the decorative ones.

Arthur slipped out a side door to watch the main entrance where Saito stood, a thermal travel cup in one hand, apparently taking an important business call.

When Maurice Fischer appeared, mildly bewildered, Saito had one hand holding his phone to his ear and the other was bringing his drink up to his mouth. He nodded at Fischer in a friendly fashion and held up a finger from the hand holding the cup. “No, clear my schedule for the afternoon,” he said into the phone. “Someone far more important has arrived.”

Fischer regarded him warily, possibly remembering the dream where Saito had pulled the gun, but Saito had his hands harmlessly full and was even managing to look a little harassed and put out.

He slid his phone into a pocket with a sigh and took another sip of his drink. “I envy you, Mr Fischer.”

“What? Why?”

“Money can furnish one with extremely talented associates and assistants, but can never assure their loyalty. Your son, on the other hand, is inherently loyal.”

“Blood doesn’t ensure loyalty,” Fischer scoffed.

“No,” Saito agreed. “But your son, well...allow me to show you.” He gestured to the main doors, which opened majestically.

Inside, Robert was leaning forward in his chair, listening to a couple of students earnestly explaining something. No one looked up as Saito and Fischer entered the room, and all the projections ignored them and stepped around them as they passed.

The mood of the room was busy but focused, with students working at the computer stations, small discussion groups forming here and there, and a small but steady line of students forming to talk to Robert. It gave off the sense of an efficiently run and contented office and Arthur could tell by Fischer’s expression that he was reluctantly impressed.

In most conversations, Robert would offer a piece of advice or a potential solution with some variation of “here’s something I learned from my father” or “my father taught me” or “what I’ve observed while watching my father.” It was very subtly done, and Arthur watched Fischer puff up with pleased pride as the consultations went on.

Saito sipped from his thermos and made a couple of quiet observations, but otherwise stayed in the background until Robert started to tell the clothing story from his childhood to an interested audience. “Well, there are other things to see,” he murmured to Fischer. “Shall we move on?”

Fischer gestured dismissively, watching the group around his son. “In a moment, in a moment. You can wait.”

Arthur had to look away at the flicker of wry offense that Saito allowed to cross his face behind Fischer’s back; he knew Saito had timed that perfectly for just such a response, but it was amazing how much unconscious assholery Maurice Fischer could be capable of.

He slipped through the connecting door to the future office, waving a reassuring hand to Eames. “They’ll be in shortly.”

Then he stopped to stare; Eames as an older Robert was a masterpiece.

Robert’s hair was longer, artfully tousled with strategic strands of grey throughout, and Eames had elected to go with a short beard and facial hair, neatly trimmed, which softened the prominent cheekbones. There were laugh wrinkles at the corners of the bright blue eyes, and a faint smile hovered about his generous mouth.

His suit was a beautiful echo of the dark conservative suit Maurice wore in the portrait on the wall; a little lighter in shade, with subtle differences in lapel width and collar, more closely tailored, and his tie was the same pattern in a different color.

“My god, Eames,” Arthur said in awe.

Robert flashed him a grin. “Might work?”

“It’s fucking _magnificent_.”

Robert/Eames gave him a gentle push. “Get yourself to the security station.”

Arthur nodded and went out a well-hidden door into a small room with a dozen monitors showing every angle of Robert’s office. Mal was already there, and Dom came in shortly after through a separate entrance.

“Saito is herding Fischer through now,” Dom reported. Mal nodded, watching the screens.

Robert was sitting at the desk, typing intently at his laptop, when Saito ushered Fischer through the office door. Robert took no notice of them, but instead continued working on his document. Maurice Fischer blinked at him, opening his mouth.

“He cannot see or hear you,” Saito said calmly. “We are as ghosts, peering at the future.”

Fischer frowned at Saito and then studied the older version of his son. Eames was copying some of Fischer’s key mannerisms and blending them masterfully with Robert’s.

Mal leaned forward in the security station and touched a button. In a voice very different from her own, light and cheerful and with no trace of a French accent, she said “Mr Fischer, your car is here.”

Robert screwed his mouth to one side in a characteristic expression Arthur had seen him do often enough. “Thank you, Soph. I’ll be right down.” He closed the laptop and slipped it into a briefcase as he rose. As he pushed the chair back and stood, he made an absent-minded gesture, clearly habitual, to touch the lower corner of the portrait of Maurice Fischer that was hanging in the place of honor in the office. There was a worn spot on the gilded frame where frequent contact had rubbed it down to the bare wood and Fischer’s face went a little soft when he noticed it.

Robert strode out of the office with a little bounce in his step, swinging the briefcase cheerfully. Fischer watched him go with an odd expression, in which Arthur could see pride mixed with uncertainty.

Saito walked to the desk, picking up the picture of Robert’s family and raising an eyebrow at it before setting it down again and moving to look out the glass window-wall. Fischer immediately reached for it, studying it with a slow smile spreading across his face. In the photograph, Robert was standing and smiling down at his seated wife and son. The young woman was smiling back at him while she held the toddler up by the hands, his feet braced unsteadily on her lap while he laughed joyfully at the camera.

Fischer gently set it down and looked around, going to join Saito at the window. Outside, the air above Sydney sparkled, clear all the way to the horizon. Saito touched the glass lightly. “I see Fischer-Morrow’s anti-pollution measures have had a good effect. The view is beautiful.” He gave Fischer a little shrug before turning away. “We have not had quite so much success in Tokyo yet.”

He glanced at the monitors mounted on the wall that displayed financial information before moving past to explore the bookshelf. As if hypnotized, Fischer paused in front of the screens.

One of them showed the company’s financial health, impressive enough to make Fischer smirk in pleasure at it. Another showed the current ranking of the world’s major energy companies, with Proclus-Global just trailing Fischer-Morrow. Cobol was nowhere in the list, which otherwise contained a scattering of much smaller companies selected by Saito for inclusion, none of them a threat.

“He’s done a good job, your son,” Saito mused as he paged through one of the books. “After Cobol tried to have him killed...”

“What?” Fischer glared at him. “We have an alliance with them.”

“You did, yes,” Saito agreed. “Brokered by that mercenary you turned, wasn’t it?”

Fischer went a little pale.

“Regardless, Robert made excellent choices for his protection. His lead bodyguard died in that attack, saving his life.” Saito turned his attention back to the bookshelf, selecting another volume to peruse.

Fischer sat down heavily in the desk chair, staring around at all the trappings of wealth and success. His gaze focused on the family photograph on the desk — his son, a wife, a grandson. Continuation.

“Hmm,” Saito said thoughtfully and Fischer looked up at him. There was a small stack of books to one side and hidden behind the empty space they’d occupied was a small safe.

Fischer got up as if drawn on a string and went straight to it, his fingers sure on the dial as he unlocked it. Inside were several legal papers, a wedding certificate, and the birth certificate. Holding it, Fischer’s hands shook slightly, his eyes wet as he read the name Maurice where his grandson was named.

Saito quietly withdrew from the office as Maurice sat at the desk again, clutching the birth certificate and staring at the family photograph, his eyes spilling over.

They cleared out of the still-sleeping Maurice Fischer’s room quickly, Robert thanking each of them before they left. Saito wore a very pleased look as Tadashi, Mal, and Dom walked with him, Mal grinning tigerishly as she explained all of Saito’s manipulations of Maurice Fischer to Tadashi.

Ariadne and Yusuf wandered off together, Ariadne yawning and leaning against Yusuf as they meandered down the hallway hand in hand. Eames gave Arthur a significant glance and Arthur nodded with a smile, watching him saunter off.

Robert leaned back against Drake, looking tired but happy, and sighed. “Tadashi and I will tell him about Tadashi’s father and Mr Richardson tomorrow morning. I think you might want to be there, Arthur, because my father sees you as Tadashi’s protector. He did _not_ like the relationship Richardson had with him and he thinks that was the reason you and Richardson fought and that you’re just being nobly quiet about it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have expected such sentimentality from your father.”

Robert tilted his head and then smiled. “You really don’t see yourself very clearly, do you? Good night, Arthur. My regards to Mr Eames.”

Drake snickered and laid an arm across Robert’s shoulders to steer him off, touching two fingers to his temple in a salute to Arthur.

Arthur watched them go and found himself thinking longingly of Eames’ bed. And Eames, in it. He made a quick detour to his own room to pick up a change of clothes for tomorrow and made his way to the teachers’ building.

Eames was waiting for him in bed, already naked, when Arthur slipped into the room. Arthur raised his eyebrows. “You’re presuming greatly, Mr Eames.”

“I’m really not, petal. Get your kit off.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “What if I’m tired and just wanted to cuddle?”

Eames didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a momentary flash of uncertainty. He snorted and patted the bed. “That’s better if we’re both naked, too.”

Arthur gave in with a smile, dimples flashing, dropping his head forward in mock defeat and peering at Eames from under his eyebrows, which prompted Eames to make a greedy noise and swarm off the bed to start stripping him.

Arthur laughed and met his mouth in a kiss. “You were amazing,” he said against Eames’ mouth, letting himself be undressed. “I kept having to remind myself that it was really you in that office. Every little gesture, the way you held yourself...” He groaned as Eames slid his hand down to cradle him, thumb rubbing along his stiffening length, and trailed off into another kiss. “Eames...”

“Arthur...” Eames breathed into his mouth, their lips brushing together. Arthur held onto Eames’ shoulders, a little shiver passing through him as Eames stroked him. “So you were impressed?”

Arthur laughed and then gasped when Eames cupped his balls, rolling them tenderly. “God, yes. But you’re...ah...raising the bar...”

Eames huffed a laugh into Arthur’s mouth. “You’re not concentrating, darling.”

“I really...uhhn...am...” He let his forehead rest on Eames’ shoulder and wallowed in the sensations for a moment before reaching down to wrap his fingers around Eames, savoring the quick intake of breath that resulted.

Eames laughed again, a shaky sound, as his hips shifted. “Are we just going to pull each other off?” he asked with his nose brushing the curve of Arthur’s ear.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Arthur murmured, smiling.

“Never, pet, I just...mmmm...”

“Bed,” Arthur whispered into the skin of his throat.

Eames nodded and moved them both backwards, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling Arthur down to kneel over him. Arthur cupped the back of Eames’ head and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss as Eames ran his hands down Arthur’s back, one splaying across the small of Arthur’s back, the other tracing below to tease between his cheeks. Arthur moaned into his mouth and reached between them to hold their cocks together, moving his hips to create a sweet friction.

“Arthur,” Eames murmured, his eyes falling shut.

He laughed softly. “Eames. Are we really awake enough for more than this?”

The forger growled in annoyance and then opened his eyes, his lips curling into a wry smile. “Fine. This now. But tomorrow, after Fischer leaves...”

“Tomorrow,” Arthur promised, leaning for another kiss and tightening his grip around them.

**Saturday Next**

He showered in Eames’ room in the morning and changed into the clothing he’d brought with him, brushing a light kiss against Eames’ temple before he left and smiling at the sleepy grumble that resulted. Then he went to sit at the edge of the orchard, indulging himself with the early morning silence and peace.

When Robert and Tadashi emerged from the dormitory, Arthur sent a soft whistle through the air to catch their attention. “No Drake?” Arthur asked with a teasing smirk as they got close.

A faint blush touched Robert’s cheekbones but he smiled back. “I think we’ve all reluctantly left sleepy partners in warm beds this morning.”

“Nope,” Tadashi said brightly. “No, not me, not the underage one, that’s not a thing that...”

“Tadashi,” Arthur said, holding the bridge of his nose.

Tadashi snorted and then gave Arthur a quick hug. “C’mon, let’s do this unpleasant thing so we can get back to our cold lonely single beds.” Arthur hugged him back and then took him by the scruff of the neck as he started walking toward the visitors’ building.

Robert snickered. “Stop with the melodrama,” he told the young man being dragged along with many winces and eyerolls. “You adore it.”

Tadashi sighed, drooping exaggeratedly. “I suppose my older brother must compress many years of bullying into a very short time frame.”

“If I wanted to bully you,” Arthur said as they approached the entrance, “it would involve a lot more pain than this.”

“Promises, promises,” pouted Tadashi, with a coy glance.

Arthur sighed, giving Tadashi a little shake as they entered the building. It was time to put on their game-faces.

Robert knocked at the door. “Father? I’m sorry to wake you, but it’s urgent. Father?”

They heard rustling inside and, after a moment, the door was flung open. “Robert, what’s wrong?” Maurice Fischer was hurriedly tying a robe on, and he looked tired and grey. He pulled Robert in with an arm around his shoulders, entirely missing the flash of shock that passed over Robert’s face briefly at the open affection. “You boys, as well, get in here,” he said gesturing to Arthur and Tadashi. “Now what’s going on?”

“Sir,” Tadashi began uncertainly.

“Is this something to do with your father?” Fischer asked sternly.

Tadashi visibly steeled himself. “If you know about my situation, sir...” He straightened. “My mother has finally been able to escape and is staying with friends of her family where my father can’t reach her. Since she is no longer at his mercy, we are able to pass along information that you need to know, sir.”

It was Maurice Fischer’s turn to look uncertain. “Your mother was being held against her will?”

Tadashi gave Robert a helpless look and Robert put a hand on his shoulder. “I told you your father had everyone fooled. Father, Mr Griffiths has been keeping Tadashi and his mother under his thumb by threats of harm to the other. While I was looking for bodyguard training for Marcus, I happened across some people whom I thought could help. They managed to sneak his mother away and now that she’s safe, she and Tadashi have brought me proof that Mr Griffiths and Mr Richardson are passing along very important financial information to Cobol, in exchange for a great deal of money.”

Arthur came to stand behind Tadashi, his hands on the young man’s shoulders, as Fischer gaped at him. Tadashi nodded, visibly taking courage from Arthur’s support. “My mother had me taught many things that we hid from my father, among them some very specific computer skills. I’ve given Robert everything I managed to gather from my father’s accesses.”

Fischer sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at Tadashi, then turned to Robert. “And have you evaluated this information?”

Robert offered his laptop to his father wordlessly, sitting down next to him to point out pertinent data. Arthur nudged Tadashi’s shoulder and pointed to the armchair in the room, but Tadashi shook his head and pushed Arthur toward it, dropping to sit cross-legged at Arthur’s feet once he’d sat down and leaning his head against Arthur’s knee with his eyes closed.

Maurice Fischer looked at Arthur sharply for that, but softened when Arthur returned an exasperated shrug. “If I thought I could’ve gotten away with it, sir, I’d’ve hurt Richardson in ways he wouldn’t have recovered from quickly, either.” Tadashi turned an idolizing look up at him, and Arthur put a reluctant but reassuring hand on his head. The young man sighed and closed his eyes again and Arthur gave Fischer an uncomfortable look, which Fischer returned with an equally uncomfortable but understanding nod, then turned back to Robert’s laptop.

When the full import of the data hit, Fischer went deep red and enraged, and Arthur worried for a moment about his heart. He snarled as he turned to Tadashi. “You knew about this for how long...?” he started and Arthur put out his hand, glaring and shaking his head as Tadashi turned to hide his face on Arthur’s leg.

“No, sir, stop right there. His mother was being held hostage.”

Fischer’s mouth twisted in rage and Arthur stood up to put himself in front of Tadashi, crossing his arms. “Mr Griffiths was an abusive father and husband. You can’t seriously expect Tadashi to put his _mother_ second to the company his asshole of a father worked for. Who also employs the father of the boy who sexually dominated him in exchange for safety at school.”

Fischer winced at that and deflated slightly. “No...you’re right. But...”

“Father,” Robert said softly. “I have a question.” When Fischer turned to him with a frown, Robert let a worried expression cross his face. “Should I be concerned here at school? If Tadashi’s and Richardson’s fathers are working with Cobol, and now Lukas has gone over to them...”

Arthur nearly felt guilty at the flash of panic that consumed Maurice Fischer for a moment, and offered, “doesn’t that company that you got to train Drake offer bodyguards?”

Robert brightened. “That’s a good point, I’d forgotten that. The ones that are here to train him actually are bodyguards. I’ll talk to them this morning.” Maurice’s relief was almost palpable.

Arthur shrugged at Fischer. “Don’t know much about your business, but this Cobol doesn’t sound like a good bet right now. We’ll do what we can and keep on eye on Robert. We’re just kids, but I can’t imagine it’ll hurt to have his friends watching his back, too.”

Fischer nodded, frowning, and Robert sighed. “It was Lukas who pushed us to put out the contracts on the Company operatives he betrayed,” he mused, laying back on his father’s bed, his feet hanging off the edge. “It makes me feel like a child,” he said, and Arthur wanted to applaud at how his position emphasized that statement, causing a protective expression to cross Maurice’s face, “but I wish we could turn the tables on him and send those mercenaries after him. I bet _they’d_ find him.”

Fischer’s face did such a complex dance of emotions that Arthur was impressed in spite of himself.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said in disbelief. “This dude betrayed the people he worked with and had you put out _contracts_ on them?”

Robert turned his head to look at Arthur as his father’s expression closed down. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You don’t need to explain to...” Fischer started stiffly.

“And you kept _trusting_ him after that?” Arthur dropped back into the chair, staring at the two Fischers.

Robert, still laying on the bed, touched Maurice’s arm as he opened his mouth to shout. “You always encouraged me to admit to my errors, father. I’m dreadfully embarrassed by this, but I feel my friends should know if they’re willing to help me.”

Maurice slumped a little. “It...may have been something of a miscalculation,” he allowed. “I will consider our options.”

Robert made a rueful face and sat up. “This means you have to leave earlier, doesn’t it? I’m sorry we woke you.”

“No, my boy, you did the right thing. I need to go take care of all this mess. Keep me appraised of your progress on those things we talked about, all right?”

“I will.” Robert smiled shyly. “Thank you, father. It means a great deal to me that you came to see me.”

Fischer harrumphed and clapped a hand clumsily on Robert’s shoulder. “Yes, well. You’re doing fine. Keep it up.”

Robert beamed at him and rose to his feet, heading for the door, and reaching down to haul at Tadashi. “You’re an embarrassment,” he said with an affectionate smile. Tadashi grinned back at him, turning to bow briefly to Fischer and then strolling out the door in Robert’s wake.

Arthur sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Sorry, sir, it’s not my place...”

“No, don’t apologize.” Fischer looked down at his hands. “You’re...well, you’re not wrong. And it means a great deal to me that you’ll watch out for my son. You seem a competent lad and I’m impressed with how you saw off young Richardson.”

“It’d be pointless to deny it, huh?”

Fischer smirked. “If the boy was fool enough to pick a fight blind...” He shook his head and gave Arthur a sharp look. “I like the group you’ve formed around my son. I like how they interact. And I believe that’s your influence.”

Arthur shrugged with a wry smile. “I wish I could claim I did it deliberately, but really it just sort of happened. But we’ll take care of him, sir. I always look out for my friends.”

Fischer nodded and turned away, and Arthur took the opportunity to leave, closing the door behind him.

Robert and Tadashi were waiting outside, and Arthur gestured them to follow him into the orchard, where they couldn’t easily be seen.

He turned, opening his mouth, and was enveloped in a fierce embrace. “Hey,” he said gently, holding them both.

“You,” Robert said roughly, and Tadashi nodded vigorously against him. “We owe you _so much_.”

“And you may very well have just repaid me with my life,” Arthur said wryly. “So let’s call it even if this all works out.”

Tadashi leaned up and deposited a quick kiss on Arthur’s mouth, then stepped away with a smile. “I’m for my lonely cold bed,” he said cheerfully and strode off.

Robert snorted and pulled himself together, also stepping away. “I know Marc is waiting for me, and...” He looked down. “Thank you,” he whispered, and took a deep breath before slipping a pleasant mask over his face and walking off.

Arthur sighed, running his hands through his hair, and turned toward the teachers’ building. Eames would probably still be asleep, and Arthur was just... _tired_...right now.


	20. Still Saturday Next and Sunday Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which loose ends are tied up, Arthur and Eames enjoy some needed time off, and Saito treats everyone to dinner.

**Still Saturday Next**

Arthur slipped back into Eames’ room, still dark with the heavy blackout drapes drawn, catching the gleam of Eames’ eyes in the light from the hallway. “Almost done,” he said softly, closing the door and pulling his clothes off.

Eames stretched and held the covers up invitingly and Arthur was quick to slip under with him, pressing skin to skin and inhaling Eames’ scent at the corner of his jaw. Eames tilted his head to offer more access. “Mmm. Almost?”

“Still have to get you and Mal out of here.”

Eames chuckled. “Have faith in your team, darling.” He nudged Arthur into turning over and then pulled him back to spoon him, one hand splayed possessively over Arthur’s belly, brushing kisses over the nape of his neck.

Arthur blinked into the quiet darkness of the room, realizing that there was nothing more that needed to be done for the rest of the day. “Eames,” he said softly.

“Mmm?”

“When we wake up, I want to fuck you into the mattress.”

The forger coughed a surprised laugh. “Petal, when we wake up, you can do just that.”

When Arthur woke, the drapes were pulled open and afternoon sunlight was spilling into the room, and Eames was kneeling on the bed and fingering himself open. Arthur made a choked sound, getting hard so fast it was nearly painful.

“Didn’t...figure you’re want to...wait, darling.” Eames was panting a little, beautifully flushed from his collarbones up, his lips wet and bitten. His eyes flashed wickedly and he grinned.

“Jesus!”

“Wrong... _name_...nngh...”

Arthur grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand away and pushing him back onto the bed, and sliding up him to kiss him desperately. “Want you so much,” he whispered into Eames’ mouth.

“Then you should take me.” Eames shoved him off and flipped over onto his stomach, staring at Arthur in challenge over his shoulder.

Arthur just knelt for a moment between Eames’ muscular thighs, staring at the whole of him in wonder.

“Arthur,” Eames said in a dry tone, trying to restrain a smile, “it’s time for sex.”

He barked a laugh and let his hands rest on Eames’ ass, thumbs moving in a slight caressing motion. “It is, isn’t it? It’s just... _you’re_ just...damn, Eames, you make me forget _words_.”

“And as flattered as I am by that, petal, get going _now_.”

Arthur laughed again and pulled Eames up by the hips to his hands and knees, pausing one last time to run his hands over him, and then pushed into him reverently. 

Eames exhaled hard and pushed back, letting his head drop as Arthur settled deep inside. “God, that’s it, that’s good, yeah,” he muttered.

Arthur smiled and ground himself just a little deeper, just to hear the breathy rough sound Eames gave him. He ran his hands over the tattoos on Eames’ back, tracing the lines of ink, while making the tiniest back and forth movement of his hips, almost more a suggestion of motion.

“Arthur,” Eames said after a moment, still breathy but shading into amused annoyance. “Quit faffing about and...”

Arthur shoved him flat into the bed with the weight of his body and thrust hard. “This? Do this?”

Eames nodded, twisting his fingers into the bedlinens. “ _Fuck_ yes...”

Arthur cut himself free, driving into Eames with delirious abandon, his world narrowing to focus on the glorious body below him, the slick heat inside, the slight taste of salt sweat, the damp shift and rub of skin, the shivers and tremors of muscle under tension, and Eames’ surges under him, which he ruthlessly subdued. He wanted to lick up the sounds he was wrenching from Eames, wanted to roll them around in his mouth and suck on them like candy. He pressed Eames’ hands into the bed, holding them there while he chased his orgasm down and came hard, crying out against Eames’ shoulder.

As soon as he managed a steady breath, Eames rolled him off and twisted over onto his back. “You _prick_ ,” he rasped, pushing Arthur down toward his hips and tangling his fingers in Arthur’s hair while he aimed Arthur’s mouth toward his unsatisfied cock. Arthur laughed and pushed away for a moment, taking a deep breath and working his jaw, then settling back over Eames and taking him in, relaxing his throat and letting him fuck his mouth a little wildly for a few thrusts before he started sucking hard, moaning deep in his throat, and was rewarded with an abandoned shout as Eames came hard.

“Wasn’t going to leave you hanging,” Arthur murmured into Eames’ hip with a laugh, stroking along his thigh lovingly.

Eames laughed, too. “I was just _almost_ there.” He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “Was I too rough?”

Arthur lifted his head to look at him steadily. “You know you weren’t.” He felt a little uncertain suddenly. “Was I?”

Eames rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you put me right off sex altogether. I may never have another orgasm again.”

Arthur snorted and then laughed, curling between Eames’ thighs.

Eames hauled him up his body to lay against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around him to hold him there. Arthur tilted his head up and Eames met his mouth in a kiss that took Arthur’s breath away with its sweetness.

“Eames,” he murmured against his mouth.

“My Arthur,” Eames murmured back.

“Fuck any plans. I’m just going to steal you when I leave.”

Eames burst out laughing. “Oh god, darling, break into Fischer’s security system so I can see his face when he’s told his thief has been stolen.”

Arthur snorted.

They emerged in the evening long enough for dinner. Arthur’s pack was waiting for him and he settled in the space they’d left between Robert and Tadashi, listening with half an ear to Ariadne and Drake squabbling contentedly. Tadashi was speed-texting in Japanese but spared Arthur a distracted smile, Yusuf had a chemistry textbook open and was oblivious to almost everything else, and Robert was scrolling through a messaging app on his phone with a faint smile.

“My father is discovering that my connections have given him better intel than he’s receiving from inside the company,” Robert said softly to Arthur.

“Any way you can make your father suspicious about your godfather that way?”

Robert’s face lit up. “Arthur, that’s _brilliant_.” He turned all his attention to his phone again, chewing on his lower lip as he concentrated.

“One might almost think you’d been trained in this or something,” Tadashi murmured, not lifting his eyes from where his thumbs were flying over his screen.

“Yeah, strange that.”

“Arthur, tell Drake he’s a weasel!” Ariadne demanded.

“Drake, you’re a weasel,” he said easily. “Why? What’d you do?”

Drake shrugged with the air of a blameless angel. “Told her that no matter how much she trained, she’d never be able to beat me in a fair fight.”

Arthur frowned at Ariadne, who was fuming with her arms crossed. “He’s more than twice your size and weight. Why would you fight fair?”

Her mouth fell open and her brow creased in betrayal, and then a dawning light spilled across her face. “Oooo, I need to go talk to Mal...”

Arthur shook his head at Drake as Ariadne bounced up, dropped a distracted kiss on Yusuf’s temple, and headed for the teachers’ table.

Drake grinned back, proudly. “She’ll put more effort into training now.” He glanced over at Yusuf, who waved a two-fingered salute in his direction without looking up from his textbook. “Well, at least you’ll have a dangerous pixie to save you from bullies, science boy,” Drake snickered.

“Then everything will have gone according to plan,” Yusuf replied serenely.

Arthur went straight back to Eames’ room after dinner and they tumbled into bed together, exchanging kisses, but ending up talking instead, and fell asleep mid-sentence late that night after hours of lazy conversation.

**Sunday Next**

They grudgingly got up to attend Sunday Mass; Arthur wanted to keep his profile as low as was still possible with the administration just in case anyone was reporting back to Maurice Fischer.

His whole pack was there, and Robert gestured him over to sit next to him where he formed a buffer of sorts between Arthur’s friends and the minions. Arthur glanced around for Richardson before sitting and Robert flashed a grin.

“The headmaster officially expelled Richardson yesterday after my father contacted him directly,” Robert smirked. “He let me know late last night and also asked after you.” He shook his head in mild amazement. “You’ve made quite an impression on my father, Arthur.”

“I promised him we’d look out for you so now I’m an asset.” Arthur shrugged. “A careful businessman takes care of his assets.”

Robert gave him a shrewd look and smiled again before turning back to face the altar. “As you say.”

Outside, on the steps, Mal and Eames joined their little gathering just as Drake was telling Ariadne, in an exaggerated accent, to stay on the top step. “So yer not staring at me belly button all day, wee imp. It’ll give yeh a chance to become acquainted with, oh I dunno, me sterling pecs?” He flexed his chest for her benefit with a leer.

Ariadne looked him down and up in a single slow assessment, then turned to Robert. “You can get him ice packs for the swelling, right?”

Robert snorted. “Drake, behave, or I’ll let her do her worst.”

Drake scoffed and opened his mouth, but Ariadne beat him to it. “My worst includes backup from Mal, so watch what you’re about to say, ‘boyo.’”

Mal raised an eyebrow at him as Drake glanced in her direction. “J’adore les possibilités d'enseignement, petit loup roux (I love teaching opportunities, little ginger wolf).”

“‘Teaching opportunities,’” Yusuf translated for him with a smirk.

Drake cast him a mild glare. “Yeah, thanks ever so.”

“Not to interrupt this scintillating conversation,” Tadashi started, looking up from his cell phone.

“As he interrupts,” Eames put in. Arthur elbowed him gently.

Tadashi rolled his eyes. “Saito’s leaving later today, but he says he’s taking us out to dinner before that.”

“Well, _that_ should be interesting,” Eames smirked. “There’s only the village, unless he wants to drive us all to the city.”

Saito met them in front of the village pub with a welcoming smile and ushered them in. As they set foot inside, the publican glanced up and then beamed, breaking into a series of awkward bows to Saito even as he gestured them toward a stairway at the back. Saito nodded and led the way up the stairs to a short hall with several doors.

Dom frowned at him. “That was weirdly enthusiastic. What’d you do, buy the pub?”

“Yes,” Saito said with a little shrug. “I liked the food.”

The elaborate wooden door at the end of the hallway opened and two of Saito’s people bowed them into a huge Tudor-style dining room, all massive carved wooden beams and posts supporting the creamy cathedral ceiling and dark wood wainscoting up the walls above eye level. The fireplace looked big enough to roast an entire deer.

“Now _this_ is a room to hold court in,” Ariadne said in awe as she turned in place to see all the details.

They settled around the wooden table in the comfortable leather-upholstered chairs and let Saito’s people serve them an excellent meal of rather superior pub fare, in which Saito took a great deal of pleasure.

There was desultory conversation until pudding, at which point Saito raised an eyebrow at Arthur and Dom. “The commission for which I hired your company cannot yet be considered strictly complete. What are your plans at this stage?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ll be here for the duration. Even if Maurice Fischer rescinds the contract tomorrow, it will take some time for word to spread. And there’s more work to be done here anyway.”

Dom nodded. “I can work here as easily as anywhere else, and we’re taking Drake’s training seriously.”

“If I may offer advice?” Saito asked, turning to Robert. At Robert’s nod, he continued. “Take this opportunity to build your connections. The generation of Fischer-Morrow families here should learn to look to you, rather than your father, and that will solidify your base beyond easy disruption. But further...” He paused, glancing at Tadashi, who smiled. “Tadashi will be coming to work for me upon graduation, and you should let your father know that as gently as possible. But perhaps you can leverage the existing connection; I suggest that you, and young Drake, come to Tokyo for an internship of sorts in the near future. Perhaps you can persuade your father that it is in your company’s best interests to form a different partnership than the previous disastrous one.”

Robert looked intrigued. “That would take some significant maneuvering, but I like it.”

“I have one further suggestion, then,” Saito said with a smile. Robert raised an eyebrow. “Regarding Ms Miles.” He nodded to Mal, who raised her own eyebrow. “You might suggest to your father that, due to Mr Nash’s poor handling of the situation, she will never agree to work with him, but that you have formed a friendly relationship, and, if he were to turn over...responsibility...for her to _you_...”

“Thereby freeing her from the restriction to the school once I graduate.” Robert glanced at Mal, who stared at him expressionlessly. “I _know_ you’ll never work with Fischer-Morrow in that way, Mal, but _he_ doesn’t need to know that.”

“Hmm.” She considered him and then smiled. “Very well, young master Fischer. I place myself in your hands as long as you think you can hold me.”

“Are you _trying_ to make me jealous?” Dom murmured, leaning towards her. She gave him an arch smile and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“So that’s Mal handled,” Eames said, leaning back in his chair with his fingers clasped over his stomach.

“Oh, we’ve got _you_ handled, too,” Yusuf said, looking up from his plate. “We talked to professor Rayleigh and, at the end of the term, he’s going to tell the headmaster you’re a person of interest to Her Majesty’s government and you’re just going to ‘softly and suddenly vanish away, And never be met with again.’”

Both of Eames’ eyebrows rose. “Rayleigh agreed to play boojum?”

Yusuf grinned. “He _really_ doesn’t like either the headmaster or Maurice Fischer.”

There was a loud series of cheers outside and Ariadne leaned out one of the big windows to see what was going on. “They’re having a village fête!” she cried in excitement. “Why didn’t we know they were having a fête?”

Yusuf gave her an indulgent smile and took her hand, tugging her toward the door.

Drake grinned at Robert and tilted his head in that direction. “They’ll have cakes and such,” he wheedled.

Robert laughed and gestured him on. “By all means, let’s see if we can fill that bottomless hole you call a stomach. I knew big dogs made expensive pets, but...”

“Dog?” Mal scoffed. “Ariadne had me convinced he was simply the largest weasel on record.”

Dom snickered and pulled her out of the room as Robert and Drake followed, Drake glaring and muttering under his breath about females banding together.

“Tadashi,” Saito said, leaning back in his chair and holding a hand out. Tadashi immediately came and settled on the rug between his thighs, facing Arthur and Eames, and, as Saito began a slow stroking of his fingers through Tadashi’s hair, the young man closed his eyes in blissful surrender, utterly relaxed. Saito smiled down at him, unguarded for a moment.

His face was still soft when he looked up to regard Arthur gravely. “I would like to request a rather large favor of you.” He glanced at Eames. “Of both of you.”

Eames was watching the two of them intently, and the corner of his mouth tucked up. “You want Arthur to dom your sub for you when you’re not here, don’t you?”

Arthur blinked and Tadashi’s eyes opened widely.

“In a non-sexual way, of course,” Saito agreed. He smiled down at Tadashi as the young man turned his face to look up at him, and brushed his thumb over Tadashi’s mouth tenderly. “I told you that I would see to your needs.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Not a request I was expecting.” He studied Tadashi for a long moment, then Saito, considering the proposal. Saito returned his gaze serenely, his hand resting on Tadashi’s shoulder.

Arthur leaned forward. “Tadashi. Will service submission be enough?”

Tadashi gave him a wicked grin. “Long-distance communication technology is freely available for my _sexual_ needs, so yes, please.”

Eames snorted. “Well, this will do your reputation at school all kinds of good,” he told Arthur with amusement.

“Eames...”

Eames rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine with it, darling, really I am. I’m not looking to share you, but if I’m honest,” he gave Tadashi a stern look, “this is practically a public service. No pun intended. But it doesn’t happen in our bedroom.”

Arthur’s pulse picked up and he turned to face Eames fully. “‘Our’ bedroom?”

Eames tucked his mouth to one side and winced. “That was a bit telling, yeah?”

“Not to worry, Mr Eames,” Saito said. Tadashi made a soft sound and Arthur turned to see that Saito had pulled the lad’s head back until his throat was arched and was looking down at him. “Tadashi understands his limits. And yours.” Tadashi made another quiet sound, this one clearly affirmative, staring up wide-eyed. Saito nodded and let him go, combing through Tadashi’s hair to settle it. “Go catch up with your friends,” he ordered gently. “I will call tonight.”

Tadashi looked down and nodded, and brushed a quick kiss against the inside of Saito’s thigh before he scrambled to his feet and darted out of the room.

Saito watched him go and then turned back to them. “Thank you.”

Arthur grimaced. “You knew I’d agree, for Tadashi’s sake. I’m more than a bit out of practice, though.”

“No, you’re not,” Eames said in amusement.

Saito smiled. “I do not believe the knack ever goes away, Arthur. And I am grateful for your assistance.”

“I’ll collect on that, sometime in the future.”

Saito gave him his own amused look. “I have no doubt you will.” He stood and nodded to his people, then bowed to Arthur and Eames. “Until next time, gentlemen.”

As they watched him go, Eames pulled a small packet of sweet-scented chew sticks from his pocket. Arthur pointed at him. “If you put one of those in your mouth, we won’t be visiting the fête today.”

Eames paused with one stick half-pulled out of the packet and regarded Arthur thoughtfully. Then his lips curved in a wicked smile and, with a very deliberate motion, he slid the stick into his mouth and took it between his teeth, moving it suggestively with a motion of his tongue.

Arthur groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Fine. Right. Back to the school then.”

“Why, petal,” Eames purred, “what a marvelous idea.”

Later, Arthur found himself laying back atop Eames, his feet braced flat on the bed on either side of Eames’ thighs, grinding his hips to match the slow, achingly good, movements as Eames rocked deep inside him. He let his head fall back against Eames’ shoulder as he caught one of Eames’ hands wandering over his stomach and tangled their fingers together, and let his other hand slide down to gently stroke himself. He felt, almost more than heard, the approving rumble against his back.

Just this, he thought. If he could have just this, for the rest of his life...

Eames kissed the top of his shoulder and then the side of his throat. “Arthur,” he purred. “Darling.”

Arthur moaned as the lazy coil of arousal slowly tightened throughout his body, desire beginning to pool like some physical thing at the base of his spine and in the cradle of his pelvic bones, Eames’ other hand wrapping around Arthur’s over Arthur’s cock, driving him a little faster, a little harder.

“Arthur,” he growled, tightening their grip and thrusting up with more power. Arthur gave himself up to the sensations, meeting Eames’ rhythm and letting it rule his breathing as he rolled into their shared motion.

Eames twisted their hands _just so_ as he thrust and Arthur came on a gasp, riding the surge of his orgasm, almost relaxed as he let Eames drive up into him and climax himself.

Eames held him and rolled them onto their sides, folding Arthur in a little as he curled around him, slowly softening inside him as he rubbed lazy circles over Arthur’s belly.

“Eames,” Arthur whispered, and clutched at Eames’ hand suddenly, overwhelmed.

“Shhh, love,” Eames murmured against his shoulder. “I know. It’s all right.” He squeezed Arthur’s fingers in reassurance. “We’ll face it all together, won’t we, pet?”

Arthur blew out a breath and let the tension go. “Yeah.” He blinked suddenly, tired, and let Eames curl him closer. It had been a long couple of weeks, and an even longer series of months preparing for the Cobol job. What was ahead of him now was a couple months of mock-school and sleeping with, and getting to know, Eames. And that he could do with his eyes closed. He smirked sleepily and drifted off, safe in the cradle of Eames’ arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> J’adore les possibilités d'enseignement, petit loup roux (I love teaching opportunities, little ginger wolf)
> 
> * * *
> 
> Yusuf's line that includes "softly and suddenly vanish away, and never be met with again" is a description of a character meeting with a boojum in Lewis Carroll's poem [_The Hunting of the Snark_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43909/the-hunting-of-the-snark)


	21. Thereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A general tying up of loose ends and the beginning of the rest of their stories...

**Thereafter...**

It had taken another week before Maurice Fischer finally swallowed his pride and canceled the contract on Arthur and the other Company operatives, and another week beyond that before he admitted he had used up his own resources and contacted the Company directly to see about having Nash tracked down.

The Company referred _that_ call directly to Dom, who returned it on speakerphone in Robert’s room with the entire team crowded together.

“Mister Fischer,” he drawled in his most American accent. “What a strange delight it is hearing from you, sir. Have we properly expressed our gratitude yet for dropping the contracts on our operatives? Because, if not, sir...”

Fischer sighed. “Please consider your point made, Mr Cobb. Is hunting down your former associate a task that interests you?”

“I’m guessing you’ve exhausted all your other options, huh?” Dom smirked at Robert who nodded and smirked back.

“Are you interested, Mr Cobb?”

Dom snorted. “Yeah, I suppose I’d have to say we are.”

“Since I doubt you’ve been inactive this entire time, I expect quick results.”

Dom raised his eyebrows in amusement and Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, you do, hmm? _I’d_ say, Mr Fischer, that you’re not paying us enough to manage your expectations as well. But we’ll probably do our humble best.”

There was a pause, and Arthur imagined Maurice Fischer’s face turning red. “I don’t care for your attitude, Mr Cobb.”

Dom’s gaze turned turned icy and the corner of his mouth turned up in what was absolutely not a smile as he regarded the phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Ariadne shiver in delighted terror and Mal’s mouth turn up in a very similar way. “You don’t? Well, I can’t say I really give a fuck, Mr Fischer. If anything, we’ve been entirely civilized while you went on your little traitor-fueled rampage. So I have to say you’re bringing a lot of fucking attitude yourself for someone who was so easily used for someone else’s bullshit personal vendetta.”

There was a long pause during which Robert and Drake regarded Dom with astonished awe. Mal moved to stand behind him, her fingers caressing the back of his neck while she stared down at him with intent.

“I...suppose I understand that perspective,” Fischer finally responded, sounding more than a little strangled. “Let me know when you have something for me.”

“Sure thing,” Dom said in a cheerful tone while he bared his teeth up at Mal. He hung up the phone and stood, glancing around with a smug grin before slinging Mal over his shoulder and striding out, ignoring the outraged demands she was making in French, though Arthur noted she was using no physical means of persuasion.

There was another long pause, then Yusuf got as far as “Well...” before Ariadne tackled him.

“Hey no,” Drake said, darting over to pick her up. “Not here, you wee menace, go find your own snogging space.” He deposited her outside Robert’s room door and shoved Yusuf out after.

Eames snorted and gave Tadashi’s shoulder a gentle push toward the door, tugging Arthur after him.

* * *

The next time Arthur saw Maurice Fischer was at the graduation ceremony months later. The man stared at him and then scowled fiercely. “Robert says you’re Nash’s Arthur.”

“I was never Nash’s anything, Mr Fischer,” Arthur replied evenly.

“When he told me who you were, I didn’t believe for a second that it was coincidence that you came here.” Fischer was glaring, blustering, obviously looking for a fight.

Arthur shrugged. “You can believe what you like. If I tell you it was a coincidence that just happened to turn out well for everyone but Nash, well, at least I can point to some evidence for that.”

“Robert says he agreed to keep you hidden because he had proof that Nash was planning to turn on us.”

“He _did_ turn on you, Fischer. All it took was someone else promising him more money.”

“You know we’ve been working with Proclus Global to take down Cobol.” Fischer said it belligerently, thrusting his chin forward.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Robert’s mentioned it, yes. Do you think I care?”

“I know Saito contracted with your lot to investigate. Which started this whole thing off.”

“Yes,” Arthur said with exaggerated patience. “An investigation. Which your pet traitor turned into murder. And?”

“Your lot provided proof that Nash is dead but wouldn’t take my money.” Fischer was angry and dancing all around the conversation. Arthur really wished he’d get to the point.

“We didn’t hunt down Nash for _you_ , Mr Fischer. Letting you know was just professional courtesy.”

“Why’re you still _here?_ ” Fischer gestured wildly around at the school, but Arthur knew he meant near Robert, specifically.

“Two reasons, Fischer, one of which is that you and Nash put out a ludicrously-priced contract for my _death_ , and word takes some time to spread properly once you revoke it. It hasn’t exactly been _safe_ , you asshole.” Fischer blinked at him, shocked, as Arthur glared. “The other, much more long-term, reason is that your son is adept at making very useful connections, and we have no problem being one of them. Your recent shitty decisions have put him in danger and he has very sensibly contracted with us for protection, for himself and for the kids whose families also work for Fischer-Morrow. Cobol is not going to go down easy and we were already working with Proclus-Global. It made sense to bring your son in to that as well.”

“Speaking of his son,” Robert said dryly as he walked over to put a hand on Maurice’s shoulder. “Father, Arthur’s had to pretend to be a teenager for a few months. Give him a break, hmm? Besides, there’s something more important going on. The Headmaster has just told me that Rayleigh’s made off with Mr Eames ‘about her Majesty’s business’ and he wants to snivel at you about it.”

“ _What?_ ” Fischer was immediately distracted and stormed off in the direction of the administration offices.

“Enjoy Vancouver,” Robert said with a grin as he waggled his eyebrows at Arthur. “I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Eames was joking that he got us a place across from a cathedral so we wouldn’t miss the sound of bells.”

Robert snorted and gave him a quick hug. “Ariadne says to tell you she’d better see you in Paris soon or she’ll come hunting you.”

“As if she’ll have time while she’s studying architecture. Anyway, Mal says we’ll get together once she’s got her formula for Somnacin exactly where she wants it. And Yusuf wants his degree as well.”

It was Robert’s turn to roll his eyes. “Which he’s doing in Paris because of Ariadne.” He smirked. “And in the meantime, the ex-commando chemist and her mercenary are going to play house in L.A. As if life isn’t already strange enough. And speaking of strange...”

Arthur smiled as Tadashi approached, looking proud and delighted. He was dressed in a new suit, very sleek and very well tailored, and he threw his arms around Arthur and hugged him tight.

“Saito and I are off to Tokyo,” he declared, giving Robert a hug as well.

“This is new,” Arthur said with an eyebrow, tapping the delicate ring of a brushed metal collar that was almost completely hidden by the suit.

Tadashi blushed as Robert leaned close to examine it. “Is that grey tungsten? Saito went all out, huh?”

“I have to go,” he insisted without moving, though he shifted his weight impatiently from foot to foot. “Saito’s waiting.”

Arthur tilted his head to consider him for a moment as he more or less obediently waited for permission, and then smiled. “Go,” he said softly, with great affection.

Tadashi gave him a radiant grin and darted away.

“To a better life,” Robert said quietly as they watched him.

“I’ll raise a glass to that when I get to Vancouver,” Arthur agreed. “Take care of Drake.”

Robert nodded with a wry smile. “He’s already missing Ariadne. I’ll have to keep him busy.”

* * *

Eames met him at the airport dressed in closely tailored navy trousers, a simple black leather belt, and a crisp light blue oxford button-down, the top buttons left open and the sleeves neatly rolled up his forearms.

Arthur actually dropped the handle of his suitcase in shock, staring at the mouthwatering vision before him that somehow failed to include loud and baggy thriftstore rescuewear.

Eames grinned, delighted and smug. “Darling, didn’t you realise I only dressed that way to annoy the school administrators?”

“Christ, Eames, I...” He straightened. “I’m going to have to up my suit game, aren’t I?”

“You don’t have to take it as a challenge,” Eames offered with amusement, giving Arthur’s comfortable jeans and sweater a superior eyebrow.

Arthur laughed, pulling Eames over into a kiss that raised a few eyebrows from passersby. “The only challenge, you bastard, is going to be seeing how fast I can take that off you when we get to Vancouver tonight.”

Eames grinned at him and Arthur grinned back, enjoying the idea of their future and all the mischief, shenanigans, and roguery they would likely get up to.

“Roguery?” Eames repeated when Arthur mentioned it. “Hah. I like that. And there’s no one I’d rather be rogueish with, petal. There’s no one I trust more, after all.” He brushed a kiss over Arthur’s cheekbone and then regarded him with a fond smile as he and Arthur weighed the still-unspoken words between them.

Arthur took a deep breath. He hadn’t been a coward about his feelings yet, and now was no time to start. “Eames...”

Eames kissed him very lightly. “Hush, love,” he murmured against Arthur’s mouth, his lips curling in a smile as Arthur shivered against him. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who followed along with this as it grew and twisted into its own bizarre almost-origin story!


End file.
